Scarlet Symphony
by DauntlessGrace
Summary: The year is 2030, and the rules have changed. In a broken world corrupted by violence, the use of all magic has been banned. But when LAPD Detective William "Spike" Pratt is called in to investigate a recent crime that leaves a high profile body in its wake, he refuses to believe these practices have been thoroughly eradicated from existence. AU, but not an All Human (AH). Spuffy.
1. Chapter 1: We Make Our Beds

Disclaimer: I just own the fanfiction. The characters all belong to Joss Whedon and Co. This is set in an alternate universe Buffyverse. But I trust you will find that I haven't tarnished the characters or their reputations. ;)

Warning: The storyline will sometimes allude to the subject of rape, but nothing graphic in the sense of the act actually being committed. If this still bothers you, you may not want to continue.

Chapter One: We Make Our Beds

_Los Angeles, California 2030_

10:28 PM

She wasn't wearing any clothes, and her naked body had been haphazardly draped at a rather uncomfortable angle across the large bed in the shoddy hotel room, a short, narrow lamp providing the only source of light on the small table to her right. The sheets, which were still clumped in massive tangles around her slender frame, were soaked through with her blood, the dried red hue having succumbed to a dull shade of brown- its bland, metallic scent overwhelming the cramped space. Detective William 'Spike' Pratt carefully extended a gloved hand as he proceeded to examine the empty bottle of vodka that sat in sullen silence upon the hard, wood surface, his beautiful countenance betraying the slightest hint of sorrow. The pills that resided near the barren glass gave absolutely no indication that she had ever contemplated taking them, let alone allowed them to taint her name. There were various pieces of lingerie scattered about the floor in no particular pattern, and a pair of tall, black pumps were propped clumsily against the far wall.

Her lifeless green eyes stared up at the ceiling, and her light blonde hair was in curls surrounding a young, oval face. She couldn't have been more than thirty years old, and judging from the gold ring that fit loosely upon her finger, was most likely married to a man who had absolutely no idea she had tragically met her fate in such a rundown establishment in an area that more or less lived up to its dangerous reputation and penchant for violent crime. There wasn't any kind of message left behind for her killer to taunt or gloat about his motive through words, and as far as Spike could tell, the possibility of getting any prints off the scene was in all likelihood becoming moot.

Her neck had been snapped like a twig, yet he still hadn't found any visible wounds to account for the tremendous amount of blood loss- let alone a weapon that may or may not have actively been the culprit in her undoing. The short, wrinkled beige curtains that clung to the narrow window showed him a quick glimpse of the full moon that lit up the cold, winter night with its brilliance, cleverly shrouding the world in shadow in more ways than one. It was a somber way to end his shift, and the irony of it wasn't lost on him, especially when taking into account the uneventful day he'd been enduring in the hours prior.

Spike rose to his full height, his casual attire painting him as a man who took his job seriously, but chose to disregard all of the frills that went with it. Instead of the ridiculously common combination of suit and tie covering his rangy frame, he'd ardently opted to take this call with a pair of worn jeans, a navy hoodie, and a light, black denim jacket that contained his four letters of employment scrawled neatly across the back in a faded yellow. The carpet his black combat boots had graciously lost themselves in, was a soft cream color and held no mention of the vicious act that had been committed so selflessly upon the mattress above it. In fact, the entire display almost seemed to lack a great deal of credibility altogether, and simply wasn't making the slightest bit of sense to him. He was sure there was something he was missing, but he honestly couldn't determine exactly what it was. There was discernibly fair play present where opportunity was concerned, but the woman definitely hadn't been combing the streets for hours on end looking for a hot date to cap off her evening. He bet everything he had that the victim knew just who she was meeting and why she'd gotten all dolled up to meet him.

Professing a deeply muffled sigh, he calmly attempted to peel the white latex gloves from his fingers, as a lot of unanswered questions still remained dormant in his mind. His partner, Detective Xander Harris, stood surveying the chaos with his arms planted firmly across his broad chest, his gaze remaining steady while he watched his other colleagues pick up the pieces. Spike approached him in a few, quick strides, and Harris promptly bestowed him with a single nod, his brown eyes meeting in mutual acknowledgement. "You're probably wondering why they even bothered with us," he stated bluntly. "I mean it seems pretty cut and dry, doesn't it?"

"Bollocks," he whispered under his breath. The call from top brass was by far the _least_ of his worries at the moment. If there was a list, it would have been at the very bottom of it. "No, I'm actually wondering how in the sodding hell she died." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he came to a nice and even halt beside the other man, nonchalantly running a hand through his gel tamed curly platinum blonde hair before replacing it with a black baseball cap featuring the same logo as his jacket.

And if his choice of plain clothes apparel was anything to write home about, he didn't exactly come any closer to meeting the conventional appearance civilians usually envisioned for a man of his station, either. Not when his vivid blue eyes, high cheekbones, and full bottom lip only served to further accentuate and cement that astute observation in stone. He had a youthful appearance about him that easily detracted from the truth of the wiseness beyond his years, and the British accent had proved its worth on numerous occasions already. Especially when he found himself pressed for time and needed pertinent information that was relevant to a case in a hurry. He merely viewed it as a nice perk, and though his effect on women wasn't exactly lost on him, there was too much at stake to risk commitment in shagging the same poor love-struck girl senseless during his downtime and praying she wouldn't ask him to talk about his feelings or meet her parents.

It was sex, nothing more. No strings attached. Just a way for him to have a quick rough and tumble and get his rocks off before he was back to doing his part in keeping the next cold blooded killer off the street. He certainly wasn't going to start picking out china patterns and blooming doilies, and his living situation at present suited him just fine.

"Yeah, well, I thought that was pretty much a given at this point," Xander went on, fervently giving him the briefest of shrugs. "Broken neck."

"Right, but she bled out," he impatiently countered, "and there are no lacerations on the body. Had to bleed out from somewhere, Harris."

"We'll know when the toxicology report comes back," he added. "In the meantime, it might help if we knew what kind of a life she led, and who she might have been shacking up with on the side. It's sort of becoming apparent that our Romeo got just a tad too literal with his Juliet. Granted, it's hard to tell just what he was going for here, but the shock value alone is through the roof."

"You think she could have ingested something he gave her?" Spike queried.

"It's plausible," Xander reasoned. "Of course, she could've just had a bad case of bronchitis that ended up working in the bastard's favor, too. Either way, it's safe to assume we can rule out the possibility of suicide in this case. _But_, and that's a strong but here...if he did poison her, it's a strong possibility it might lean toward nitric acid."

"Nitric acid."

"Yeah. Your basic, garden variety murder weapon. Easy enough to come by, too. Maybe she had some trouble breathing after she consumed it, and as a result, vomited up a whole lot of the red stuff thereafter. Most likely scenario is that he mixed it in with the vodka, and being as drunk as she was, never would've been able to tell the difference. Too wasted to realize what she was getting herself into and paid the price for it. End of story."

"Right then," he murmured, the corners of his mouth twitching into a slow grin. "Except there's no swelling of the throat and no burns of any kind on her skin."

"Well, okay, but that doesn't mean h-"

"Couldn't have inhaled it," Spike continued. "Lips and fingernails aren't blue."

"In any case, Willow Rosenberg's performing the autopsy," the brunette volunteered. "Thought it might be best to hand this off to one of our finest."

He tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. "Who is she?"

"Jennifer Hart, age twenty-four." Xander indicated the file folder tightly enclosed within his grasp, the photo of the woman in question efficiently attached to the front by a single red paper clip. "She has a daughter, Beth, and is married to Robert Hart of Wolfr-"

"Wolfram and Hart, one of the most prestigious law firms in the state of California," he finished for him. "Yeah, so it explains why they want us on it. But why go after the wife? Not like she had a bleeding thing to do with his dealings in or out of the office. Probably didn't even know what he really did for a living."

"To teach him a lesson?" his partner suggested. "I'm leaning toward disgruntled client."

"Looks that way, doesn't it?" he mused.

"You've got a theory, don't you?"

"More of a shot in the dark."

"So let's hear it," he proposed, gesturing to him with his free hand, while Spike tucked both of his securely into the pockets of his jeans. Bugger it. He was just dying for a smoke, and was continually reminding himself that he'd made the decision to quit for the umpteenth time not four hours ago. Not that it ever made the slightest bit of difference. "Because I think it's high time you shared with the rest of the class, pal."

"Don't think we should talk about it here."

"What? Why not? We've got juris-"

"If you two could just hold that thought a little longer," a voice interrupted, "you might be pleased to know that I finally managed to get a sketch from our witness downstairs." The two of them turned to see Cordelia Chase proudly coming through the dilapidated door of the tiny suite, the department's acclaimed sketch artist in residence eagerly displaying the tattered sketchpad she held in her possession, a smile taking shape upon her pretty face.

Spike just raised a dark eyebrow, shaking his head in disbelief. "The same desk clerk who was knackered and pissed out of his mind when we got here? Yeah, I'll bet he was a real breath of fresh air."

"Laugh now, mister, but I'll have you know he was surprisingly easy to work with," she conceded, rolling her eyes, as she thoughtlessly tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind one ear. "Look, why don't you guys just see for yourselves, okay?"

The figure she had drawn was clearly supposed to be rooted in some substantive reality, but instead chose to give off a more comical depiction of fantasy, the man in it decked out in a tall, pointy hat cloaked in miniscule stars. He had a haggard face, with a long, full beard and a narrow, pointy nose, the remainder of his body covered by a lengthy and oddly bulky robe that presumably trailed a few feet behind him on the ground. He wore an irritated scowl slanted across his thin mouth, his demeanor projecting a prominent air of malice. "All right, so according to this, we should put an APB out on Merlin," Xander retorted, his tone alluding to a fair amount of sarcasm. "What's next? Cinderella's fairy Godmother? Hey, I call dibs on Jafar and his lamp."

"I was under the impression it was somebody roleplaying," she insinuated. "I mean, we all know the ramifications of what would happen if he were actually practicing, right? Maybe it wasn't that he went for the costume in the first place, but more because he wanted to make it personal, you know? Like he wanted this to get our undivided attention, and by making sure it did, he decided to make the murder about a ban that went into effect years ago."

"Then that would also mean his M.O. is just as personal, and might be able to tell us a little more about this...roleplaying reject," Spike advocated.

"Sure, fine, great. And yet? There's just one teeny tiny problem with that."

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "I'm really not gonna like this, am I?"

"Everybody who ever tried anything is probably locked up tight in your local looney bin, and not looking at the prospect of parole anytime soon. Like it or not, Spike, it's a given fact. Nobody could have made it out of the country, let alone a single state, with the way they swept those areas. There was nothing left, and he'd be crazy to-"

"No, not crazy," he said softly, as his line of vision tracked out and into the dimly lit hallway, noting the remaining occupants and their stubborn knack for overwhelming curiosity. "But he'd have to have just the right amount of luck workin' in his favor to pull it off."

"You know, crazy or not, we haven't exactly settled on why Mr. Wizard wanted her dead," Xander reminded them.

"I take it you guys have never heard of Joyce Summers?"

He only frowned, lightly scratching his head in response. "Joyce who?"

"Joyce Summers, doofus." Cordelia loftily flipped her hair over one shoulder, undoubtedly irritated at having to repeat herself. "And you call yourselves detectives. Anyway, the point is, her daughter, Elizabeth, was convicted of her murder about seven years ago. The networks had a field day. The coverage was just...well, it was literally mind blowing- and if you ask me, what it ultimately came down to was a whole lot of inconclusive evidence. Inconclusive evidence, mind you, that they could've easily turned on its head to work in her favor. Of course, the jerk of a prosecutor would beg to differ, because he wasn't exactly willing to admit that the so-called proof he'd found wasn't exactly in the pudding."

"Still a little hazy on the details here," Xander proclaimed, as he decidedly raised a hand in confusion, sneaking a quick peek at Spike to gauge his reaction.

"You think the bird's innocent," Spike vouched, as he spared Cordelia a thoughtful glance, her determination not lost on him. He'd only been employed by the department for just under five years now, but the specifics pertaining to the infamous trial she spoke of hadn't been of any significant interest in his native England, especially considering the only knowledge he currently possessed was limited to what he'd heard through the grapevine tonight.

"I don't think, I _know_," she declared. "Trust me, it was like seeing a mirror image when I walked in here. But the one thing that just isn't adding up in all this, is that Elizabeth is still serving time in jail, while whoever did this is out there giving themselves a great big pat on the back for a job well done. The dirtbag continues to walk free and the joke of a legal system is letting that woman rot in prison and throw her life away. If there had been even an ounce of justice given to her when she needed it most, she wouldn't be hiding from society in some dirty, cramped cell for a murder she didn't commit."

"So you're telling me Joyce Summers was killed by-"

"Yeah. Not that I'm going to come right out and say it, but yeah," Cordelia conceded, nodding. "Hey, by no means am I claiming to be an expert or anything, and truth be told, I actually have no idea who the victim is, but-"

"Jennifer Hart," he filled in for her.

"Well, chances are you're going to find Jennifer and Joyce have a lot more in common than just the letter J. The same grisly death, for starters."

"All right, fine. You happen to know of a good place to start, pet?"

"Wow," she quipped, "it really must be awfully late for you, because you're usually a _much_ quicker study than this."

"Not that you'd know from firsthand experience," Spike retorted, bypassing her usual flirtatious repartee with an agitated glower, his tolerance wearing thin. Professing a tired sigh, he relented a fraction of an inch. "Honestly, Chase, I'm really not in the mood, so let's just get on with it and be on your merry way."

"Cranky, aren't we? Look, for what it's worth, Joyce's file will be on your desk before you get back. Unlike a lot of the others, it's not exactly classified." She cradled the sketchpad protectively to her chest then, subtly clearing her throat, while she shot him a terse wink. "Oh, and FYI, there's also the Records Library, which I hear has one of the best archives around for most events past and present. You might want to check it out."

"You don't say," he replied, his tone unmistakably sardonic in wit. "Guess I'll have to keep that in mind."

"No problem," she assured him, unable to resist tossing him a big smile before she went and exited swiftly through the entryway, her presence never failing to catch the undivided attention of a decent number of male heads along the way. "You really should try and get out for a few drinks every once in awhile, Pratt! It might do you some good."

"Oh, I would, love. I really would. But some of us actually work for a living!" he called back, never missing a beat.

"Hey, if we're finally done with the kindergarten banter part of the evening, how exactly do you wanna go about this?" Xander asked, a faint trace of amusement clearly evident in his brown eyes. "We've already been given priority, and if Cordy's observations come baring any significance, I'd say it's going to venture into some mucho dangerous territory."

"I'll see what I can find out about Joyce, and you can drop in on Red," Spike returned smugly, giving his partner a comforting pat upon the back, while he continued to supervise the loyal forensics team monotonously bagging and tagging the residual evidence. "And, well, just 'cuz a bloke's curiosity is bound to get the best of him, tell me something, Harris."

"Tell you what?"

"She's shot down your advances exactly _how_ many times now? Abrams says you're aimin' for an award this year. Then again, it's probably just shop talk."

"Aw, man," Xander muttered miserably. "So that's how this is gonna go. See, I knew it. I just knew it. Me and my big mouth." The dark haired man hung his head in shame, his arms remaining listless at his sides. "I never should've told you she was doing the autopsy. I mean, I'd kind of like to live it down while I'm still young and stupid, and right now I must be failing miserably. But for what it's worth, Abrams can go stick it. Not like his track record's so great, anyway."

"Don't look so glum, mate. Silver lining to everything, right? If you hadn't spilled your beer all over the crafty little minx at that retirement party last month and embarrassed yourself silly, you might've actually stood a chance with her."

"Yeah, gee, thanks for reminding me. It's truly a privilege to feel this humiliated."

"We try," Spike added, notably pleased with himself despite the dire circumstances of the situation they'd found themselves in upon arriving on the scene less than thirty minutes ago.

"C'mon, have a heart, Pratt."

"I like you, Harris, always have. But your problem is that you have to learn to let go and loosen up a bit. Red doesn't strike me as the kind of chit who fancies the bookish type. In her mind, you're just another one of those blokes who reads comics in his mum's basement, and leaves all his action figures mint in the bloody box. Am I somewhat close to the mark?"

"I hate you. You know that, don't you?"

"Got a vague memory of it, yeah?" Spike nodded, as he feigned what could have passed for the slightest hint of compassion. "Tell you what, though. We'll agree to disagree on this one, and I'll propose a compromise. If seeing Rosenberg is a bit much for you, you're welcome to have at it with digging into the Summers case. But that also means longer hours, no hope of a shower 'til morning, and the possibility that the graphic nature of any photos you come across will have you tossin' your cookies all over your shiny new shoes. Still don't know how you passed the bloody exam when the sight of too much red stuff makes you want to heave."

"And for those of us in the studio audience not really caring right now, I'd like to go talk to the victim's husband and inform him of his wife's passing."

"Yeah, and can't that wait? Not like she's going anywhere."

"Oh, so you'd actually like to pretend we were never even here," Xander confirmed, suddenly perturbed. "Great, yeah. How very sympathetic of you."

"Bugger it." Spike sighed, his jaw tightening as he contemplated choosing his next set of words very carefully. "It's just that the media circus is gonna turn into an event of chaotic proportions as soon as they get bloody wind of this, and I'd just like to catch a bit of kip before that happens. Is that too much to ask?"

"At this hour, probably not. But then again, what do I know? I'm just the errand boy." He wrinkled his nose. "And what the hell is kip? Please tell me it's not a sex thing."

"For God's sake." He shook his head. "A nap, you git. I'm talking about _sleep_."

"Well then why didn't you just say so?"

"Thought I just did. Can't help it if you're always knee deep in the gutter."

"Whatever."

"Look, I'll swing by my desk and grab the case file on the way," he promised. "Try not to make an even bigger fool out of yourself when you see your lady friend again, yeah?"

"Go, get outta here, I've got it covered," he grumbled, ignoring him.

His palm facing inward, Spike happily bestowed the other man with a certain two finger salute that was likely just as foreign to him as the British term he'd just spoken, nimbly making his way through the long corridor that led straight into the shabbily dressed foyer. The desk clerk Cordelia had managed to successfully squeeze a sketch out of was noticeably absent from the general vicinity, and he was more than just a little thankful for that, as his head was currently occupied with thoughts that were far removed from engaging in chit-chat with some impaired wanker that saw his salvation in a bottle of booze. Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he withdrew his transparent departmentally issued identification card, stepping outside to run it through the slot that would grant him access beyond the yellow electronic barrier that lit up the darkness and surrounded the premises, prohibiting civilian entrance.

His senses usually fully engaged and alert, he didn't feel the impact of the gigantic fist that smashed into and collided roughly with the left side of his face until it was much too late, his composure faltering just a bit as he fought to steady himself up against the hard brick behind him. His fingers hesitantly reached up to stifle the blood that began to slowly trickle from his nose. "Oh, balls."

Two uniformed officers who'd witnessed the entire display from afar, were already springing into action and advancing on the culprit, doing their best to drag the large monster of a man away from him, grunting in vain as the perpetrator made it his sole mission to destroy all of their efforts. Spike angrily tossed the tall, gangly one his handcuffs, attempting to subdue the blood with his sleeve as he glanced up at his attacker, recognition failing to set in. "Mind telling me which one of you let the bloody Hulk out of his cage? Own up now and maybe I won't have your badges for breakfast."

The shorter, stockier officer who was fighting to catch his breath just shrugged. "Don't...don't know, sir. He just...well, he just- he's gonna have one hell of a headache tomorrow. That thing messes with your cranium something fierce when it's not disabled. Doesn't matter now, though, because we...well, we got him, sir!"

"No, you're right, it doesn't, and it's called _security_, you moron. Lock him up and have him sweat it out 'til his lawyer arrives. Though, come to think of it, it'd probably still be a bleeding crime to release him back into the waiting arms of his own stupidity."

"Keep your filthy paws off my woman, asshole!"

Spike moved to stand toe to toe with his aggressor, raising a dark brow in interest. His opponent was a good five inches taller with a shock of light brown hair and a clumsily trimmed goatee, his sleeveless t-shirt and slacks fitting awkwardly across his large physique. "And what woman would that be, mate? Had a lot of 'em this week. Don't reckon I came across one that was pre-stamped for your approval."

"You stay away from her!" the giant seethed as his nostrils flared, his hazel eyes blazing with utter contempt. "You got no right, you hear me? No right!"

Oh, he was loving this. "She got a name? This...woman of yours?"

"Worthless piece of crap."

"Yeah, all right. Add stalking to assault and book him," he instructed Tall and Gangly. "And while you're at it, get that tech geek down here to examine the sodding barricade."

"Yes, sir," the officer assured him. "You, uh, you think you might be needing a medic? Because I could go and-"

"Won't be necessary," he insisted. "Had far worse." He went and swiped his card through the malfunctioning barrier, waiting with some impatience until it dissipated- providing him with a grand total of fifteen seconds to move past it before it emerged again. The parking lot was cluttered with a long line of cop cars and an ambulance that had angled itself rather crookedly along the sidewalk that led to the front entryway. But none of it was really registering with him as he unlocked and stepped into the welcoming sanctuary of his own vehicle, pulling the door shut behind him.

The killing wasn't random. It was far too deliberate to be random- and in more ways than one.

Whoever had lured a high profile lawyer's wife out into some cheap hotel with the promise of a late night date and a roll in the hay, had likely wined and dined her at his expense before. Possibly even slept with her on numerous occasions already. She was familiar with the routine and had come here expecting much of the same. But when all was said and done, Jennifer Hart had simply been targeted because she was convenient.

The means to the motive, however, would fly over the head of each and every ponce journalist willing to stoop low and into the thick of it for a scoop, and that was just how her killer wanted it. He'd counted on exposure for all the wrong reasons. The only thing it would show the public was that Robert Hart was living a lie and his marriage was already in shambles and taking a hasty detour towards the finish line. A very _permanent_ finish line, considering he was unable to sit down and chat with her about her indiscretions. It didn't have a bleeding thing to do with what her husband may or may not have been into, but it had everything to do with the first letter of her first name.

Such a small thing, really.

He rehashed Cordelia's earlier assessment following her observation about the Summers case, and it occurred to him that their UNSUB was intending to pick up exactly where he left off. Joyce and Jennifer didn't mean anything to him. He wanted the prize- the one thing that was essentially off limits to him in every possible way.

Elizabeth Summers.

Why, he didn't know, but the young woman knew something. He was sure of it. And given the strange nature of the case- one in which his partner would likely continue to remain oblivious to for the time being, Spike would keep that little nugget of information to himself. Couldn't have it falling into the wrong hands when bloody Merlin was still at large. He could now feel the pain throbbing as it coursed up and along the left side of his cheekbone, extremely mindful of the fresh bruise that was already beginning to take shape as a result of his altercation with the linebacker the size of Texas. But with any luck, it would be fairly inconsequential by morning.

He tore out of the lot at a speed he wasn't even conscious of and reminded himself that he was in serious need of a history lesson after he retrieved Joyce's file and made a quick mental note to see if he also couldn't locate her daughter's as well. The records library would be his next stop, and while he was there he'd conduct his own timeline of the day in question, and try to determine the chain of events leading up to the murder seven years ago. A scorned lover didn't go through the trouble of playing dress-up and exsanguinate his victim after she'd already incurred a broken neck. A firm smack to the bedside table would have taken care of it right quick. No muss, no fuss. Spike briefly ran his thumb along the smooth silver band that occupied the single slender finger of his right hand, very much aware of the fact that he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight.

But it wasn't as if he actually needed it.


	2. Chapter 2: And Then We Lie

Chapter Two: And Then We Lie...

_Records Library_

11:57 PM

Spike gently cradled the manila folder beneath his right arm as he reached out and swiped his identification card through the narrow slot with his left hand, watching as the light blinked from red to green in an instant, granting him immediate clearance to the city's Records Library. He was very much aware that the building was just short of three minutes in closing, but what he was after couldn't wait. As promised, Cordelia had through the trouble and tape in getting him Joyce's information before she'd gone and ended her shift for the night, likely seeking out the appealing comfort of home and sleep- or whatever it was that well-groomed chits seemed to feel entitled to after a hard day's work at the office. He wouldn't be the least bit surprised if she drew herself a warm bath with lots of girly bubbles and bought a bottle of wine and a box of bleeding chocolates to go with it.

Pulling open the door, he sauntered into the lobby and up to the front desk, doing his best to put a welcoming smile on his handsome face, as he used an index finger to buzz himself in on the touchpad.

The blonde head that was currently bent over a stack of papers a good eight inches high, eagerly popped up at the sound, and matched his smile with one of her own, suddenly finding it exceedingly difficult to reign in her enthusiasm. "Blondie bear!"

"Bloody hell," he murmured, as he reluctantly met the inquisitive and lustful stare of the young woman manning the fort, her attire consisting of a short purple dress and a pair of matching purple heels covered in glittery sparkles. "Nice to see you, too, Harm."

Harmony Kendall clapped her hands as she practically beamed at his greeting, her blue eyes never leaving his. "_Someone_ hasn't been by in awhile. I was starting to think you didn't like me anymore."

He tilted his head and lifted a dark brow. "Didn't like your boyfriend plowin' his fist into my face, but we'll save that discussion for a rainy day, won't we?"

"Oh my God," she whispered, putting a hand over her mouth and revealing the same purple sparkles spattered across her long, elegant nails. "Morty hit you?"

He angled his profile towards her in the dim lighting, allowing her to glimpse the familiar shade of black and blue that had since taken up residence on his cheekbone from his run-in with the Jolly Green Giant. "He did."

"Gross," she breathed. "Should I get some ice?"

"See, it took me awhile to figure it out at first," he drawled almost lazily, deliberately ignoring her, as he crossed his boots at the ankles and leaned into the wooden countertop. "But then I remembered you running your mouth off about our little picnic in the park the other day where just about any poor and willing sod could have listened in on it. Guess he wasn't in San Diego like you thought. You tell me he's history and he follows me to a crime scene. Honesty must have been the least of your worries. What, with being so desperate for a shag and all. Hope you enjoyed yourself, 'cuz it was the first and last time you'll be gettin' any. But knowing you, that shouldn't be a problem, should it?"

"So that's why you're here, isn't it?" she accused, as she angrily put both hands on her hips. "To ream me out for something that was so totally your fault?"

He laughed. "_My_ fault? I think you've got that backwards, sweetheart. Looks like too much bubblegum does indeed go straight to the brain. Gives the word airhead an entirely different meaning, doesn't it?"

"I don't have to take this. I have rights," she proclaimed rather haughtily.

"Yeah, the right to remain silent, but wishes aren't exactly horses, are they?"

"So, wait, now I'm under arrest? What the hell for?"

"No, you silly bint, it was sarcasm." He straightened a bit as he recalled the reason he'd dropped by in the first place, retrieving the file folder from underneath his arm. "Is Rupert in?"

"Why? Are you gonna yell at him, too?" Harmony demanded, frowning. "Besides, it's already past closing now. Whatever you want, I'm sure it can-"

"It can't," Spike insisted. "It corresponds to the case I'm workin', and I need it before morning."

She shrugged. "Don't suppose you'd mind locking up then? I've kinda got someplace I've gotta be."

"_Fine_," he muttered quietly. "Be sure to give my condolences to the new wanker in your life."

"What makes you think it's a guy?" she retorted, easily dropping to her knees and making a quick grab for her yellow shoulder bag on the floor. She flawlessly draped it up and over her right shoulder, sticking her tongue out at him for good measure.

"Playing the field, are we?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Just here to use your database, love. Could care less whether or not you've decided to experiment and expand your so-called horizons. But while we're on the subject, I'd strongly consider going the route of a doctor who's giving out free lobotomies."

She rolled her eyes, grabbing her black coat from the rack behind her, and hugging it to her chest. "Good _night_, Spikey. Be nice if you removed that stick before you leave, too."

"Stick?" he repeated.

"Duh! The one that's still lodged up your butt because you're acting like such a jerk." She fished the car keys out of her purse and stomped over to the door he'd just come in, her heels cracking noisily over the white floor tiles as she pushed it open and swiftly exited, not bothering to offer him another glance.

Spike removed his weapon from the back of his jeans and retrieved one of the steel boxes sitting on the shelf across from the desk, sliding his card through yet another slot and safely depositing the gun inside. Considering the nature of the scene he'd just come from a little over an hour ago, he very much doubted it was going to do him any good in a confrontation with Houdini. But disguises were a dime a dozen lately, and it wouldn't surprise him in the least if their suspect turned out to be female. Still, with the way everything was going, the chances were terribly slim, and if their he _was_ a she, it would only open up yet another can of worms he wasn't prepared to deal with at the moment.

He logged into the first cubicle and made sure to choose the holographic browsing format, watching as a keyboard appeared in front of him beneath a large screen. Removing his jacket, he tossed it over his chair, placing his ball cap next to it, while he busied himself with pushing the sleeves of his hooded sweatshirt up to his elbows. Using both index fingers, he typed out his query and was more than just a tad dismayed when the machine indicated it was unable to comply with the search.

Not to be deterred, and adding a more specific timeline of events, Spike put a name to the date, and much to his relief and amazement, saw a total of three results pop up- one of which was a biography for Elizabeth Anne Summers. It was archived under level three, which meant he'd only barely qualified in accessing it. How was it that her mum's file was readily available when a so-called murderer's was practically dead and buried in the archives? Getting more curious in attempting to answer his own inquiry, he dragged the link off the screen and to the side, mindfully entering his badge number in the blank login bracket, along with his departmental passcode. What emerged in its place left him nothing short of speechless.

She was beautiful.

A young face with large green eyes looked back at him, framed by long, wavy strands of blonde hair, and a full bottom lip. It was clearly a mug shot, if her orange attire was anything to go by, and she held in her hands a booking number, the photographs that accompanied it taken from several different angles. Her height told him she was a small thing, listed at exactly five feet, three inches, and according to her birthdate was only twenty-four years of age. The same age the Hart victim had been back at the hotel.

If he went so far as to humor his hunch, the hair and eye color were an exact match as well. It seemed far too conducive to be coincidence, and he was willing to bet last week's paycheck on it. Elizabeth's conviction had been on December 15, 2023. Jennifer was pronounced dead on December 15, 2030. It was a bold statement, if there ever was one. But to Spike, it was nothing more than a pathetic cry for a competent adversary. The son of a bitch was actually welcoming the challenge, and part of him felt compelled to give it to him.

The postmortem photos in Joyce's file had indeed bore striking similarities to the way in which both women had been found- right down to the broken neck, the amount of blood loss and the position each had been posed in. Their killer had taken the liberty of rearranging them like a sodding piece of art. A rag doll. Spike surmised that the ponce probably, in all likelihood, went so far as to consider them his canvas in a weird sort of way. It wasn't the kind of premeditated planning a seventeen-year-old girl would have found herself capable of seven years ago, and although the inkling of a thought was still there, he doubted she had an accomplice out there waiting somewhere in the wings to vouch for her inculpability by killing a lawyer's wife.

The details were too meticulous. Too...calculated for that. According to her bio, Elizabeth had fought for her innocence until the day the court had announced the verdict and threw away the key, repeatedly insisting she'd been wrongly accused and that someone had set her up. The cop who found her the night of her mum's death had testified that her hands had been drenched in Joyce's blood. Elizabeth's explanation was that she'd been trying to revive her, believing Joyce to simply be unconscious. She'd immediately resisted arrest and two uniforms were later called in to assist with dragging her down to the station against her will. Her alibi was never corroborated.

But if the crime scene photos were anything to go by, the only thing that had been soaked with blood had been the sheets, which would mean that Elizabeth had only touched them after her attempts at bringing her mother back had met with failure. Joyce, too, had been completely stripped of her clothing, and Spike was beginning to equate that minor detail with the killer's need to expose his victims' sense of vulnerability. It also ruled out a potential lover. Joyce hadn't been seeing anyone romantically at the time- at least according to close friends and co-workers at her art gallery, and Elizabeth's father had been absent from her life since the tender age of fourteen. The defendant claimed she'd returned home from a late night party and had been out since 5pm that evening.

He brought up the news articles and gave them each their own window, noting with some disappointment that they didn't tell him anything he didn't already know from having read her bio. She hadn't exactly excelled in academics, but her grades were still of the average variety, and she hadn't had a single slap on her wrist prior to the indictment. Yet all of that had been overlooked without so much as a glance when the flawed justice system had decided to throw away any hope she'd had for a promising future- let alone a sufficient period of grief to cope with her loss.

"William?"

The voice startled him, but he relaxed almost immediately when he discovered he recognized the inflection that was very much like his own. Minimizing the holograms he was still in the process of compiling into his brain, Spike turned in his seat and offered the middle aged man behind him a nod. "Rupert. Didn't think anyone else was still here."

"Yes, well, I've been in the basement office cataloging the day's influx of news into this month's database," Rupert Giles offered with a half grin, briefly readjusting the spectacles perched atop his nose, as he came a bit closer. The black tie he wore around his neck beneath the collar of a white button down was considerably loose, and his charcoal gray slacks were stained with what appeared to be a clumsy coffee spill. "Quite the chore, really. Unfortunately, my assistant isn't the most competent in her line of work, so I was compelled to rearrange a few things during the course of a more thorough examination."

"Color me shocked. Bird's got the mental capacity of a bleeding fruit fly."

"It would appear to be so," he agreed. "But enough about her. What brings you to my neck of the woods at this late hour?"

"Jennifer Hart."

"Oh, dear," he exclaimed. "The lawyer's wife?"

"One and the same. Department's sketch artist thinks her death might be connected to the Summers case back in '23. First I heard of it 'til now."

"Ah, yes. Terribly unfortunate," Giles murmured softly. "That poor girl didn't deserve the sentence they gave her. You know, I don't believe she's had a single visitor since they put her away. From all accounts, she loved her mother far too much to have done something so callous to her."

"That right?" he added quietly.

"Yes, it's...well, considering the circumstances, it's entirely probable. But if you'll allow me to be frank about this, I think it would probably be best for the both of us if you refrain from any further involvement in this matter altogether. It's not to say you don't have a shot at helping her, it's just...you need to realize what it is you're getting yourself into."

"I'm a big boy, Rupert. Just 'cuz you're havin' doubts about it, doesn't mean I'm gonna-"

"You misunderstand, William." He crossed his arms over his chest, his mouth set in a firm line. "You see, you're nothing like her. You shouldn't be concerning yourself with something that can and will only end one way. I admire your drive, your...your passion, I do. But I don't want you becoming emotionally attached. There are rules, and those rules aren't meant to be trifled with. You have a place in this life, as does she. And right now, they could not be more different."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" Spike roughly countered. "_Trifling_ with this?"

"I didn't-"

" 'Cuz rest assured, old man, you couldn't be more wrong."

"If you help her, you risk her finding out. And what would she think of you if she knew? This recent murder of yours may have nothing to do with her at all, and your department contact who put these silly ideas in your head is perhaps a great deal more foolish than you are. You mustn't risk compromising yourself for-"

"Good, as it just happens to be a co-worker I trust implicitly, and she's got no reason to mislead me."

"You're already in too deep by merely associating with those people."

"It's a job, Rupert. One I happen to be bloody good at. Don't need you telling me how to do it."

"Then for your sake, I sincerely hope you'll be careful." He straightened, letting his hands drop listlessly to his sides. "Something is coming, William. I can feel it. Whatever it is, it's no longer welcome here."

"The ban," Spike acknowledged. "Yeah, already on it."

"Are you?"

"No need to get shirty, gramps. I can take care of myself." He returned his attention to the large holographic screen for a moment and brought up Elizabeth's file for a second time that night, copying the data over to the micro cell he withdrew from his right ear. The miniscule excuse for a phone was no bigger than his pinky finger, but it somehow always came through for him in a pinch with whatever purpose he'd programmed it to serve. He planned to go over the bio again in much greater detail once he was in the comfort and privacy of his own apartment- at least before he swung by the penitentiary to request an appointment.

This tiny scrap of a young woman he'd never even met had already begun to warm the cold and dormant places of his heart, awakening something inside of him that he hadn't experienced in a very long time. Too long. Certainly not with that irksome chit Harmony, or any of the other girls he made it a point to entertain on a weekly basis, for that matter. " 'Sides, while I appreciate everything you've done for me, this one's mine. More than capable of handlin' it."

"If that bruise is any indication of how well you're...handling it," Giles mused, "then I shudder to think of how you're going to fight an evil that's at present both nameless and faceless."

"Guess that remains to be seen then, doesn't it?"

"William."

"I'm headin' out," he declared. "Got things to do." Retrieving his belongings, he made sure to log out and briskly began making his way towards the lobby, stopping only to free his gun from the steel box it still sat in upon the sturdy shelf. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had to fire it and that in itself reiterated more to him than he wanted to contemplate. Maybe he'd strongly consider opting out of that contemplation completely. He was what he was, after all.

"You're one of the last, you know."

Spike paused to look at the other man, his blue eyes revealing far more than he'd intended. "The last of what? It's a different world now, Rupes."

"Which is exactly why you should be taking precautions."

"Precautions, my ass," he muttered, as he headed back out into the darkness. He hated leaving without so much as a goodbye, but Giles had that irritating habit of prompting him to fess up to issues he'd purposely kept buried for a list of perfectly valid reasons. Ever since he'd met the man, he was apparently required to be some kind of sodding open book in his presence. He'd informed him in no uncertain terms and on numerous occasions that it wasn't ever going to happen, but it sure never prevented him from trying.

But the inconclusive evidence that was forever mounting was still nagging at him something fierce, and he knew he'd have to make one last trip to the morgue to see Red before finally calling it quits. It would take him an additional fifteen minutes to make it back there, though clearly worth it to see if she'd caught anything he or Harris had missed. Then again, if Harris had gone and chickened out on his end of the bargain, Spike was going to need some kind of a report by morning regardless. That, or the captain was going to be on him and breathing down his neck about it.

Because it wasn't just any victim in that hotel, he reminded himself. It was the wife of a well-known and well-respected lawyer. And not just any lawyer. Robert Hart of _Wolfram and Hart_. It made waves. _Robert_ made waves, and on a daily basis. But these particular waves were ones that would spiral out of control once it became known to the bleeding press that something was a bit rotten in Denmark. Or more specifically, a shady part of Los Angeles, where no woman of Jennifer's status shouldn't have been found herself mingling about in the first place.

Spike passed the remainder of the duration by counting the insane amount of road signs that continually lectured him about his speed, the same electronic message blinking monotonously beneath the illumination of the narrow street lamps. He'd happily made it a personal goal of his to see which ones he could succeed in pissing off the most, and right now, he was doing a damn good job of topping his record from last week. Once the poor excuse for a machine read and registered his plate number, he was well aware that they wouldn't be able to touch him. He considered it a fairly inventive method of payback for not getting a raise in five years.

Sliding into a first floor parking space, he got out and entered through the grim corridor that would lead him to the one little corner of the world where life wasn't hopping and had ceased to be. Literally. The corpses that occupied the metal slabs with their chests sliced open and their insides dissected were forever lost to the living. It was worse when it was children. He figured he'd just about seen it all during his time on this plane, but as fate would have it, he soon learned he didn't know the half of it. There were things in his past that he wished he hadn't seen or done even then, but nothing had prepared him for the human side to it.

"No, I'm not, I'm really not," a persistent male tone was objecting as Spike entered the room that saw the majority of the late night action for the night. Of course, action may have been coming on a bit too strong, as it wasn't necessarily the definition one might think of when hearing the term, but if the guest list was any indication, it was certainly hopping with deceased partygoers tonight. Willow Rosenberg was busy yanking off a pair of blood spattered latex gloves, her long hair pulled back with a clip and just barely covered by a floral cap adorned in pink, her slender frame clothed in light orchid color scrubs. Xander Harris was seated over on a tall stool in the far corner, his overall demeanor suggesting he was practically sweating bullets and was about to be ruthlessly pummeled at any second- and by a girl, no less. His brown eyes rose in the direction of the doorway as his partner entered, and Spike saw him very nearly breathe a sigh of relief before his gaze tracked right back to the DB that had just survived a Y cut. "Tell her, Pratt."

Without even bothering to spare him a glance, Spike walked over and studied the elderly man who was spread out on the slab. "He wants to jump your bones," he supplied, addressing the medical examiner. "Any news on Hart?"

"Hey!"

"Oh, just ask her out already and be done with it, you ponce. Bleeding tired of you circlin' around her like she's your prey."

"Hello, not a piece of property here," Willow volunteered, waving a clean hand in the air.

"Never said you were, love. It's just that Harris here's got it up in his noggin that you've still got it bad for him. Figured I'd finally put him out of his misery and save you the torment."

"Well, if Xander wants to, I'm sure he's more than capable of asking me himself. It doesn't mean I'll...agree to said proposition, but I may- and very strong emphasis on the may here...try and consider it." She smiled at him, as she reached over and draped a sheet over her current patient. "Okay?"

"Thank God."

"Don't thank him yet," Xander managed, "because as it so happens, we're kind of at a standstill. Which, sad as it is, basically puts my chances of getting a date out of the running right now. In other words, we've got bigger fish to fry."

"A standstill," Spike repeated.

"Yeah huh. She's got no official cause of death. It _does_ however mean we can rule out my broken neck theory, as Willow's absolutely positively sure that's not it."

"Well, that's comforting," he agreed. "Would 'I told you so' be appropriate right about now?"

"Not so much, no. But here's the real kicker. We know she bled out, but the blood didn't make an exit through her mouth or nose, let alone any, shall we say...more private orifices. At this point, I'd probably go so far as to suggest Cordy's not such a crazy person after all."

He tilted his head, smirking slightly. "Fill you in on the specifics, did she?"

"Yeah, and it's way creepy! I mean I always thought that ban was just for weirdos, you know? The kind that only _think_ they're into the hocus pocus and abracadabra. But we've got what seems to be the real deal here, and the costume-"

"You found it?"

"Couple of guys were out taking a stroll about a mile away from the hotel and saw something sticking out of the dumpster. Merlin's wardrobe without Merlin in it. There was blood on the right sleeve, only it wasn't his."

"Hart's," Spike sanctioned, nodding. "Wanted to leave us another parting gift."

"Guys?"

They both directed their attention to Willow, who stood surveying another body beneath a sheet, her expression a cross between worry and bafflement at the sight in front of her.

"What is it?" they stated in unison without realizing it.

"Uh, I don't think that's going to be an issue anymore."

The sheet was removed to reveal what was supposed to have been, in Spike's estimation, the remains of Jennifer Hart, fresh out of autopsy. Instead, nothing else sat on the slab but a pile of ashes. Ashes that were starting to rapidly deteriorate in front of them until nothing was left, leaving the metal plate completely empty and void of a body- or proof that there'd ever really been one there to begin with.

"Not too early to rule out grave robbery," Xander hesitantly put forth, scratching his head. "And I'll go ahead and say spontaneous human combustion, too. Is Dorothy's witch really out of commission? Because I'm starting to feel more like the cowardly lion by the minute."

"Yeah, but you have it easy," Willow complained. "I mean, how am I gonna explain how a body just up and crumbled to teeny tiny pieces on my watch? Unless they're invisible pieces. But then they'd think I was as crazy as Cordelia. Although, I've gotta admit, I'm kinda sorta with Spike on this one, because she's suddenly not sounding so crazy anymore."

"Ya think?" the brunette deadpanned. "Forget about the date. I'm convinced I need therapy. And just when I was actually getting past that whole 'no monsters under the bed' thing, too. As of right now, that night light's coming back out of the box."

"You'll live," Spike snapped. " 'Sides, whoever bloody told you that thing about monsters not being real needs to get their head examined. They're out there, all right, just not like you might think."

"What other way is there?"

"Never mind. Look, we're all gonna stick with the same story here, so we need to make damn sure we get it straight. We didn't see anything, we don't _know_ anything, and we sure as hell don't buy into that magic mumbo jumbo. Got me?"

"Then what do we say?" Willow whispered.

"Nothing. Not a sodding thing. But first thing tomorrow morning, I'm requesting an order to have Joyce Summers' body exhumed."

"Her daughter's the one-"

"Yeah," he acceded. "Being held in the penitentiary downtown. Gonna drop in on her after the cemetery."

"You saw something in her mother's file," Xander inferred.

"Not Joyce. Elizabeth. But I don't wager it'll do me any good explaining it here. Go home, get some rest and meet me outside the building at seven sharp tomorrow. Don't be late."

"C'mon, Pratt, that's-"

"You want some answers, don't you? Can't find 'em unless you're on the right path. And we won't be on the right path if we just sit here twiddling our thumbs."

"You think he knows we're here," Willow spoke up. "That...that all of this has just been one big show for whoever's responsible."

"Performance, more like. But we've got access to something he doesn't. _Someone_ he doesn't. Gonna play that angle for all it's worth. Then we might actually have one up on this bastard."

"He does always seem to be a step ahead," Xander concurred, frowning. "Who's to say he won't try and get to the girl before we do?"

"Under all that security? Bloke would have to shapeshift."

"Okay, _please_ stop putting all of these ideas into my head. In case you forgot, I live alone. My gun isn't going to save me from a boogeyman in the closet. Especially if he plans to turn me to dust and becomes a dead relative."

"Don't see what he'd want with you anyway."

"Oh, believe me, he'd want me."

"Not bloody likely. He already knows you're scared of your own shadow when you're not on the job. Fat lot of good that'll do him."

"All right, time to steer the conversation away from all things that go bump," Willow admonished. "Not that it's not interesting and all, but it's giving me the heebie jeebies."

"You could always stay with me tonight," Xander offered hopefully, no doubt testing the waters.

"Not if my life depended on it."

"Best give up, Harris," Spike taunted.

"Says you," he protested, grinning. "But something tells me I've got this one in the bag."

"You would if you stopped being such a poop," Willow enlightened him.

"We clear on our stories here?" Spike prompted. "Or do you two need to get a room?"

"All clear," Xander responded

"So clear," Willow followed up.

"Good, then I'll just bid you both good night. Sweet dreams, yeah?"


	3. Chapter 3: First Impressions

Chapter Three: First Impressions

_December 16th_

4:29 AM

The incessantly infuriating sound of monotonous church bells reluctantly tore Spike Pratt from the pleasure of sleep and dreams and roughly pushed him headfirst into the harsh realm of reality. He tiredly professed an irritated groan as he extended an index finger and tapped the micro cell in his ear, activating it and carefully easing himself into an upright position in his bed. He ran a hand through his tussled blonde curls, his blue eyes widening as he caught a glimpse of the clock perched upon his bedside table. "This better be good, mate, 'cuz I'm not supposed to be there for at least another bloody two hours yet."

"Do you hold those you care about terribly close to your heart, Mr. Pratt?"

Swinging his legs over the side, his padded over to the pair of jeans he'd tossed over his desk chair a few hours earlier, swiftly dragging them on to conceal his nudity, his bare feet silently making their way across the carpet to the closest window of his fourth floor apartment. He parted the electronic blinds with one hand and glanced out into the surrounding darkness, not at all surprised when he was unable to spot anything even the least bit out of the ordinary when most of the world was still reveling in an unconscious state. The voice on the other end was bitter and crisp, and wasn't cleverly disguised by any of the advances in technology- but it was also one that he'd bet a hundred quid he'd heard somewhere before. "Depends on who we're talking about," he drawled, trying hard to keep it entirely casual. "But I guess the more important question here is how in the sodding hell did you get this number?"

"That's neither important nor relevant, I'm afraid."

"No?" he mused. "Well, then by all means, entertain us."

"Facts are stubborn things, Mr. Pratt, and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passions, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence."

"So, what, you're gonna quote John Adams and bore me to death?" Spike entered the kitchen and yanked open the drawer closest to him, fishing through it until he recovered a device that wasn't much bigger than his phone, carefully setting it upon the wooden table so it was still within range. He very much doubted the trace would prove the slightest bit accurate, but knew from experience that there wasn't any harm in putting his best foot forward in a situation like this. Even if he did manage to get some kind of a reading, there was the remote possibility that whoever was on the other line could throw his signal. "Try harder, you gormless nit."

"You know it then."

"Uh..._yeah_. Went to bleeding school, didn't I?"

"Then perhaps you can enlighten me, as I happen to have it on record you're a great deal more well-versed than you appear."

"In what? Powdered wigs and war? Any wanker of a history professor'll tell you the same thing. Probably for a flat flee commonly known as tuition. It's called an education, you ponce. Look it up."

"Your friends have no idea, do they? If it were up to you, you'd keep it that way."

"Bugger this," he murmured softly. "Listen, if you've got something to say, say it. Otherwise, sod off and leave me be so I can catch some shut eye."

"People are locked up for a reason, Mr. Pratt. The evidence is the reason. A life sentence is as good as death. You'd be wise not to complicate matters further."

"And what exactly is it that you think I'm complicating?"

"Forget the girl. Walk away, and I'll make sure you're compensated for your troubles."

"And if I don't? Walk away, I mean." He waited a beat, already aware that he wouldn't be getting a rapid fire response at his expense. The dig had obviously rendered his mystery friend speechless. "Can't use your magicks on me," he continued smugly. "In fact, _you_ can't touch me, and you bloody well know it. Otherwise, you wouldn't have wasted your breath with a flimsy phone call. Hoped we'd talk it out like honorable men, did you? Might've worked if I was a man. Don't fancy I'd consider myself honorable, either."

"Your witch can't protect you forever. She can't keep hiding, Mr. Pratt. I'll find her, and when I do, I'll expose her. I'll turn her in and she'll be subjected to the same treatment Miss Summers' has ever so faithfully endured for the past seven years."

"Is that right? Well, you just keep on with the tryin' then, and pray to whatever gods you worship that it takes. I've gotta go see a guard about a girl."

"A world without light. No different than you were before."

"Already am," Spike countered. "And guess what? You're boring me for real this time, you bastard. Time's up, clock's ticking, and your threats aren't holding water. But don't worry. We got your little anniversary present just fine." He threw a white t-shirt over his head and reached for his boots clumsily residing on the floor beneath the desk. "You slipped up, though, didn't you? Had no idea we'd make the connection this fast, and now you need to buy yourself a minute or two to smooth things over. Helps to have friends in your pocket. Though I s'pose you wouldn't know anything about that now, would you?"

"Friends aren't going to save you from eternal damnation, William."

"Give it a rest, Mary Poppins. And do me a favor, will you? Don't contact me again 'til you've gone and dropped the nancy boy act and want to talk business." With that, he abruptly terminated the call, and went to retrieve his miniscule tracking device, a slow smile spreading across his face when it failed to provide him with a definitive readout. He thought about sticking Harris on it to unscramble the location, but he would bet everything the call was made from a random mobile within a two block radius. Thousands of people occupied those a day, maybe more during rush hour. And considering that each and every conversation was recorded and stored away within the database of his mini cell, this one in particular had allowed him the mistake of revealing far too much for his level of comfort.

He removed the phone from his ear and brought up the holographic display, texting Harris rather briefly of the last minute cancellation regarding what was supposed to have been their morning meet. Spike had no doubt his partner would later want answers, but taking into account the information disclosed at present, he wasn't exactly prepared to give them to him. At least nothing resembling the truth. He threw a tattered gray sweater over the white t-shirt and completed the ensemble by dragging out his black pea coat from the closet. He'd contemplated wearing his duster or his LAPD jacket, but was aiming for calm and collected in a place where the atmosphere was noticeably anything but. The objective was to put the prisoner at ease and he fully intended to keep up his end of it. Quickly drawing his apartment door shut behind him, he ran his card through the slot beside it, and returned it to the back pocket of his jeans.

"William?"

The elderly tone was cheerful and light, and the woman it belonged to fit it perfectly, right down to the bounce in her curly white hair and the gusto in her big brown eyes. She couldn't have been more than four feet ten inches in height, but she wore her demeanor loud and proud and it more than compensated for her floor length nightgown covered in a blinding array of polka dots. "Mrs. Brinkman."

She finished polishing her spectacles with the lavender colored cloth she held within her grasp and placed them back upon the bridge of her nose. "Why, I thought that was you. My heavens, child, what on earth are you during up at this early hour? Is it work again?"

"It is," he agreed.

"Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee? I just put a fresh pot on and was going to invite Mr. Calvin from across the hall. But you're more than welcome to join us if-"

"Love to. Can't," he cut in apologetically. "Have something needs taking care of. Raincheck?"

She grinned, taking hold of his arm with one of her fragile hands and giving it a tight squeeze. "Oh, of course, dear. Anything for you. You just me know when it's convenient and I'll see about setting something up."

A low growl emanated from below, and Spike glanced down to see a small white dog wrapped around his neighbor's legs, a tiny black nose peeking out from beneath the lace of her multi-colored attire. Crouching to his knees, he kept his expression fairly neutral, and reached out a hand towards what he presumed was the family pet. The animal moved in and lunged at him, snapping viciously with its sharp teeth, just barely missing him as he rose to his feet once again and immediately stepped back and out of range. "Not too keen on company, I see."

Mrs. Brinkman just shook her head as she bent over and scooped the white piece of fluff up into her arms, planting a quick kiss between its eyes. "Somebody's been a very bad boy, Mr. Snowball." If Mr. Snowball was the least bit affected by being subjected to a firm scolding, he certainly didn't show it, dutifully resuming his growling in what sufficed for a passable watchdog impression. "It's so odd," she remarked, shrugging. "He's usually friendly with everyone."

"Probably just protecting what's near and dear to him," Spike murmured.

"The only thing he's ever chased is Katherine's cat. She brings him sometimes when she comes to visit. I- well, I just don't know what's gotten into him lately. I'm sure it's nothing personal, William."

"Of course not," he added. "No worries." He bid her farewell as politely as he could muster, and entered the elevator at the end of the hall, extremely thankful when the doors snapped shut in front of him. The phone call had rattled him, but not nearly as much as Mr. Snowball's less than endearing wrath. But he wasn't about to sit down with the nice old woman and explain to her why her scruffy little whirlwind of a furball had been fully prepared to bite all of his fingers off and rejoice in the aftermath of his pain and discomfort.

Spike had lived in the building for as long as he'd resided in the states, but he hadn't actually felt the weight of it until today. Given his history, it was never in him to make a point of going out of his way to socialize with his neighbors- especially neighbors who'd never so much as acknowledged him as a tenant prior to this most recent run-in. He was even more gobsmacked that pint size Mrs. Brinkman actually knew his name. Although, given the knack the majority of residents within her age bracket had for gossip, he figured it probably flowed quite freely at games of BINGO and Parcheesi on blooming Sundays. It bothered him more that hadn't allowed himself to work up the nerve to outright refuse her invitation for a cup of coffee, even when it wasn't exactly his beverage of choice.

But setting coffee and nosey neighbors aside, he needed to consult with his captain to get the order to exhume Joyce's body. However, given the sodding visit he'd been paid this morning via cell, that particular order of business would now have to wait until he had a face to face with her daughter. The trip to the penitentiary had moved up on his list of things to do, and he had it on good authority that security was bloody difficult there- even for cops. It wasn't as if the prisoners were able to jump the fence or dig a hole to make some genius daring escape. They were shackled electronically nearly twenty-four hours a day, minus showers and meal breaks. He couldn't imagine how in the buggering hell that could be comfy for anyone, much less a young woman who was presumably innocent.

Fifteen minutes later he was edging his vehicle into the facility's entrance, making like he wasn't at all affected by the five angry men in bland gray uniforms who stood watch near a booth made of clear glass, the frowns they wore very nearly on the verge of being permanently embedded within their stiff countenances. Spike imagined it had to be quite agonizing in keeping that expression in place for the entire duration of their shift, but if it made the merry band of idiots feel manlier doing it, he supposed it was more power to them. Perhaps they were struggling to compensate for something else entirely. The bulkiest of the five held out a gloved hand to stop and he complied, but not by much. He knew it would be a lot more fun just breezing on through and leaving each and every one of them choking and sputtering behind him in the dust.

"Identify yourself."

"Detective William Pratt. Requesting visitation rights for prisoner number 12202317. Summers, Elizabeth."

The frown deepened. "I'm afraid that prisoner isn't currently accepting visitors at this time, sir."

"Then it wasn't a request," he added, effectively shutting him down. "Override it or I'll need to talk to the big man in charge. Up to you, mate."

"May I ask what this pertains to?"

"Pertains to?"

"Yes. What business do you have with the prisoner in question?"

"Afraid that's classified."

The guard yanked off his matching gray cap, running a hand over his auburn buzz cut before once again returning it to its rightful place atop said buzz cut. "I'm sorry, sir. We're under strict orders not to allow access unless your information is legitimate and can be verified. I'm going to have to advise you to pull up there, turn around, and go back the way you came."

"Right then. Verify this, you pillock. Jennifer Hart, wife of Robert Hart. Murdered in a dingy hotel room in the pitch black with no witness in sight. Case details that have been brought to my attention appear to correspond with that of your prisoner and the tragedy that befell her mum. Satisfied? You know, I really hope so, 'cuz God knows you're in need of _some_ kind of satisfaction in life 'sides puffin' out your chest and standing ramrod straight all bloody day."

He disappeared into the glass booth for a bit, seemingly typing a series of rapid commands into a handheld device on the wall, emerging with that same frown creasing his thin lips about fifty seconds later. "Identification card, please."

Spike complied, rolling his eyes as he spared an annoyed glare at the watch that covered his right wrist, waiting as his card was slowly scanned into the system. Buzz Cut dutifully handed it back to him as he reluctantly waved him on through, granting him the required authorization in the form of two passes, one of which he was instructed to pin to his coat- the other from his rearview mirror. Sliding into the first vacant spot he saw, he hung the tag over the mirror and let himself out, entering through a set of rusted metal doors and into a lobby where two more uniformed guards stood behind a lengthy matching metal desk.

"Whew baby," the first one commented. "Somebody obviously had fun scraping the sidewalk with you, buddy."

"Yeah, you should've seen the other guy." He tapped the pass attached to the left side of his coat, and slapped down his identification card again. "Detective Pratt here for prisoner 12202317."

The two men turned toward each other and grinned, the oldest of the pair doing his best to stifle a laugh as he picked up the card and ran it through the system for the second time, nudging his friend in the elbow. His hair was jet black and graying at the temples, a thin mustache residing below a long, narrow nose, his hazel eyes curiously surveying the screen to his right. "You, uh, you sure about that?"

"Yeah, might have her mixed up with another broad," the other man added, winking.

"No two ways about it," his pal agreed.

"There a problem?" Spike queried, tilting his head at the both of them.

The first uniform merely held up his hands in mock surrender. "No, no problem. It's just...she's damaged goods, man. Everybody knows it. I get that you're new here and everything, but she's kinda...well, she's kinda already made the rounds, if you know what I mean."

"Rounds of _what_?"

"You're cleared to go in," he confirmed, acting as if he hadn't even heard the inquiry. He shoved the card back across the desk and signaled to another guard who stood near a door approximately five feet away. "Bobby'll unlock her cell for ya. Go easy on her, all right? She's probably still sore from last night."

Spike gave him a smile of his own, as he strolled up and over to the ponce he assumed was Bobby, his blues flashing amber under the dim lighting. "Better be careful there, mates. I find out either of you hurt that girl, in any way at all, I won't be as forgiving as your superiors. Be wise if you smartened up and got that memo, 'cuz I don't like repeating myself."

"Whatever, dude. Enjoy the complimentary breakfast. It's on the house."

"Think you mean leftovers," his comrade muttered.

Disregarding them, Spike allowed Bobby to lead him through a darkened hallway that literally seemed to go on for miles before it finally stopped at a windowless steel door with a series of five dead bolts trailing from top to bottom, a thick handle residing directly in between them. He watched Bobby meticulously unlatch each and every one and yank it open, signaling to him to wait while he entered and approached yet another door within a cramped space that appeared to serve as an interrogation room of some sort, containing only a single table with two chairs positioned at opposite ends.

"Stay here. I'll see if she's decent," he informed him, as he practically barged in through the other door, addressing the occupant in a low, incomprehensible tone, his words clipped and right to the point. Two minutes later, he dragged out an electronically shackled Elizabeth Summers, and told Spike to have a seat at the table as he set the prisoner down across from him, roughly applying pressure to her shoulders. She was barefoot, wearing only a short white t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, her long blonde hair trailing behind her back. Her green eyes were nothing like the ones he'd seen in the photos from the records library, and any spark she'd previously held in them had vanished, leaving them cold and detached of warmth.

But even in the state she was in, she was still bloody gorgeous.

He saw her nod to Bobby as she almost mechanically allowed her gaze to fall to the floor again, refusing to acknowledge his company. She drew her slender legs up to her chin and wrapped her fingers around each of them in turn- or at least as much as the shackles would permit her to, which wasn't a sodding heck of a lot. "You've got twenty minutes," Bobby confirmed as he exited, slapping the door shut in his wake and leaving them shrouded in silence.

Spike reached into his coat and pulled out a pad and pen, declining to opt for his mini cell, which was perfectly capable of recording the scene, both visually and audibly. He wanted to make her as comfortable as possible in his presence, and in order to do that he needed to succumb to a method of note taking that made most feel old fashioned and severely outdated. He cleared his throat, holding out his hand towards her in hopes that she might take it. "Elizabeth, my name's William Pratt. I'm a detective with the LAPD. If you don't mind, I've got a few questions I'd like to ask you."

She didn't show any effort in complying with his gesture, and continued to stare off into a sea of nothingness, her expression unreadable. "How do you want it?"

He raised a brow at the bluntness of the statement, his cerulean depths never leaving the wide pools of green. "Beg your pardon, love?"

"Against the wall, on the table, straddling you in the chair. The last one wanted the bed. I'm not supposed to do that because it's against regulations, but he said he'd tell the warden I was stealing if I didn't. If that happens, they put you in solitary for three days, and you don't get to eat."

"You're talking about sex," he reasoned quietly.

She just shrugged. "What'd you think I was talking about?"

"I guess I-"

"You've got twenty minutes," she reminded him, "so you might as well put them to good use. I don't really need my meal privileges revoked again, so I'm open to whatever you have in mind."

"Awfully tempting," Spike quipped, rolling his eyes. "But that's not why I'm here."

"I don't understand. I assumed this was roleplay. I mean it always is. You're the big strapping hero of a detective and I'll be the helpless criminal. Match made in heaven. I've bet you've even got a set of handcuffs on you."

"Right then," he drawled. "Except here's where you're wrong, pet, 'cuz I really _am_ a real detective and I really _do_ work for the LAPD. Going on five years now, as a matter of fact. You're welcome to check my credentials for yourself, though I doubt they'd let you out long enough to do it."

She visibly flinched as she crouched lower in her chair. "They're transferring me, aren't they?"

"Don't know a bleeding thing about a transfer. Don't care. Thing I'm here about is your mum."

She met his gaze head on now. "My mom's dead. And seeing as you're a cop, you'd know I killed her."

"That's not true."

"No? Then you must be more delusional than I thought. Maybe I should be taking pity on you instead."

"You think that's what this is? Pity?" He angrily stalked towards her and dropped to his knees, slapping a hand upon either side of her chair while he wrenched it so hard the floor belted out a sound that was fairly reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard. She jumped, visibly stunned, and pushed herself up higher, fighting to put some distance between them. He could see the fire flare up in those green orbs and it was then that he knew she'd finally awarded him her complete attention. "Newsflash, blondie. I don't give a piss about code of conduct when I'm convinced the chit in question was wrongly convicted. What matters to me is that this girl has a chance to prove her innocence now that new evidence has come to light. Evidence I'm havin' a hard time explaining to my peers 'cuz its origins aren't exactly of this world."

"You want them to lock you up, too?" she taunted. "Because they will, you know. It's what they do. The only thing they're good at. Every right you ever had will be stripped away and you'll be nothing more than a piece of meat to them. So whatever you've come here to share, save it. I'm not interested."

"Something tells me you are."

"Once again, you heard wrong. I don't make deals, _William_. And if you're honestly not here to take advantage of me, your time's been up since you arrived. Please leave."

"The name's Spike, and like it or not, I've got a proposition for you, Goldilocks."

"Are you deaf? I _said_ I'm not interested."

"Oh, good, 'cuz I've got all day. Not setting one foot out of this little cell of yours 'til you-"

"Actually, you don't," she challenged proudly as she crossed her arms over her chest as best she could. "Twenty minutes, remember?"

"I can apply for an extension. But that's 'sides the point, ain't it?"

"You have a lot of trouble with that word, don't you?"

He smiled. "What word would that be, love?"

"No."

"When there's been another murder, yeah, I'd wager I do," he tried. "Victim died the same way your mum did."

"You're seven years too late. But, hey, I know. Maybe my accomplice did it. If you let me find my purse, maybe I can give you his number."

"Elizabeth-"

"Buffy."

"What?"

"You can call me Buffy. I haven't used Elizabeth since high school, and Buffy, it's…it's what my mom used to- well, before she... Anyway, now that we've got that settled and we're both on a first name basis here, could you please just get on with it? I'm dependable and trustworthy. At least in here. The jurors would say otherwise if we were in court. But I'll give you credit for making this the most inventive scenario yet. Hope you brought a condom, because I'm fresh out."

"Not bloody likely, as that's not gonna happen. Don't know how many times I have to say it, but I genuinely want to help you. You're in a bad place, and I want to get you out."

"I think you mean off."

"Buggering hell, woman. I came here today to offer you a twenty-four hour furlough. Means taking you into my protective custody so you'd be free to examine the crime scene however you like. I figure as far as deals go, it's a pretty sweet one, so I'd urge you to rethink that policy of yours and form a bit of a truce here. I know what it's like to be on the wrong side of the law. Been there myself a time or two, and your case should've never gone to trial."

"Great, fantastic. So you're a lawyer now, too. Tell me, counselor, is this the part where I have to be subjected to hearing your life story for hours on end while you rattle on and on about etiquette and right of-"

"Might be a bit hard, pet, as I've lived a bloody long life."

She laughed, a hint of the sparkle coming back into her green eyes. "What are you, a little over thirty? Because where I come from, that still entitles you to a free pass regarding the senior citizen discount. You can steer clear for at least another forty years."

"We're not here for me. We're here for you," he reiterated. "I meant what I said, Buffy. Don't think you did it. And speaking of lawyers, Robert Hart's wife, of Wolfram and Hart, was murdered last night. It's why I came to see you. Victim was Jennifer Hart, age twenty-four. Age you are now. And, as I've already told you- died the same way your mum did. Body was stripped of clothing and there was unexplainable blood loss."

"Could be a copycat."

"_Could_," he considered, "but it's not. Wouldn't have put much stock in it if a colleague of mine hadn't referred me to your case. Jennifer Hart's body just turned to ash in the morgue shortly after midnight, and I've got good reason to believe the same might've happened to your mum. I'm convinced the killer uses it as part of his M.O. No way to be sure unless I can get your permission to open her casket."

"And there's the kicker," she whispered. "You son of a bitch. You're just letting me out because you need me to get to my mom. See, I _knew_ you couldn't be here because you actually cared. If anything, you're-"

"I'm doing it for you!" He began to pace back and forth within the confined space with no specific purpose in mind, madly wishing that he'd remembered to dig that pack of cigarettes out of hiding before he'd left his apartment. "And I care. I do. More than I probably should, considering what I am. But I can't change that. I'd only be lyin' to myself if I ignored this and walked away. Wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing you're stuck in here."

"Be easier for both of us that way," she mused with some indifference. "Plus, I'll be safer if he's still out there. It's a win-win, trust me."

"Not so sure about that. Bloke paid me a phone call this morning. Seems awfully taken with you. In fact, it makes me wonder if it was you seven years ago and not your mum. Wrong place, wrong time. Easy to mistake the two of you, as there was more than a little resemblance."

"But I'm nothing," she said softly. "I'm nobody."

"He might claim you're not, at least to him. Usually happens when someone's out for blood and it's yours. Though I'll go one step further and say you'll always mean something to somebody, regardless of the consequences involved." His blues bore into her greens, studying her so intently that he had to force himself to look away again. "You've got strength, Buffy. You should use it."

"What did you mean, what you are?" she intercepted.

He froze, quite literally stopping in mid pace, spiraling back to her as he feigned confusion, his visage remaining impassive. It was like a second nature to him for years, and suddenly all of his walls were cracking and caving in without warning, unable to take the preferred course of action to prevent the imminent descent of destruction. There was something about her that just moved him. Beyond all rules, beyond all measure. "Sorry, love," he mused quietly, "not following you around that bend."

"You said, 'what I am.' For one, you're much too good looking to be a cop, so I thought maybe you might be one of those secret agents or something who's protecting his real identity for the good of the people and had loads of plastic surgery to cover it up."

Spike smiled, wanting to breathe a sigh of relief if he thought it might do him any good. "No plastic surgery. And for what it's worth, it was nothing but a slip of the tongue, pet. Got a lot going on up in my head right now, and I'm probably not even thinking straight."

"Are you married?"

The smile grew wider. "No. There was someone, long ago, but it didn't end well. Don't regret a second of it, although she wasn't quite all there, if you know what I mean."

"Then why do you wear it?"

"Wrong hand."

"Huh?"

"Not a wedding band," he filled her in. "Would have been on the left if it were."

"But it has to be of some importance, though, right? Otherwise, why would you bother?"

"Right, and now you miraculously want to make with all the chit-chat. Tell you what. We live long enough to make it through this, I might let you in on a little secret or two. Better than taking it to the grave, at any rate."

"So what's in this for me? If we…crack this wide open, what do I get?"

"I'm not-"

"A shiny gold watch, a year's supply of turtle wax. What? Personally, I'd settle for freedom in a box with a great big red bow. I mean, yeah, it's only temporary, blah, blah, blah. I get it, all right? But if you're good on your word, I think I'm ready to accept."

"Gotta make a call to the captain first. Next is gettin' the exhumation order and we take it from there."

"You really do, though, don't you?"

"I don't know what-"

"Care."

"I-"

"I'm not a murderer, Spike."

"Know you're not, love, but the real one's still out there digging his trench just a little deeper."


	4. Chapter 4: No Holds Barred

Chapter Four: No Holds Barred

9:34 AM

"So," the slightly chipper voice stated rather contemplatively, "are you planning on actually showing up today, or should I think about sending out the cavalry?"

Spike rolled his eyes and scanned the packed parking lot of the diner, watching as a group of giggling young women piled out of a red car, the shortest of the lot giving him a surprisingly thorough inspection as she passed him and entered through the double doors behind him. Any other day he would have been more than glad to reciprocate the implied invitation, but as of a late, the possibility of a one night stand was probably the furthest thing from his mind- especially with Buffy's treatment in the penitentiary forever stuck in his gut. He hadn't meant for it to, but it had gotten to him. So much that the very thought of taking her back there made his insides churn. "Not a bloody child, Anya. Don't need you keepin' tabs on me."

"Well, you could have fooled me. I almost considered telling the guys you ran away with a wealthy prostitute who was giving you lots and lots of orgasms, but then I figured I was being too accommodating." He heard a huff of breath on the other end of the line, and smiled. "Anyway, I helped move things along with your exhumation order, and since the next of kin has already given you her permission to dig up a seven-year-old dead body, you should be home free by noon. Of course, and I can't possibly stress this enough- I still think you owe your superior a great big thank you for all she's done for you today. And I am, you know. Your superior? You should remember that before you ask for last minute requests and twenty-four hour furloughs. You're lucky we're right in the middle of the holiday season and I'm feeling so generous with my time. My money, too. I like money. It buys nice things."

"I'll owe you?"

"How about, 'I'll owe you, Captain Jenkins.' It has a much better ring to it, don't you think?"

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Yes, my last boyfriend told me that right before he broke up with me. But that's beside the point, because I still need the report from the Hart crime scene on my desk by end of shift today."

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist. Trust me, you'll have it. Might be awhile, but you'll have it."

"And not that you care, but my knickers are so twisted because Xander's been down there with that Willow woman all morning when he should be paying attention to me. I pay his salary, don't I? The least he could do is take me out to dinner to show his appreciation."

"The bloke probably doesn't even know he's on the menu. 'Sides, something goes wrong, he'll have to quit his job and hightail it out of the bleeding country. Way I see it, he's doing you a favor."

"Is this your way of saying I'm overbearing and vengeful?"

"Right then. Won't be touchin' that one with a ten foot pole." Spike directed his gaze to the window of the diner, where his charge was currently struggling with the handcuff locked around her right wrist, the opposing end attached to the metal bar that resided directly above the table. He'd already put a hell of a lot on the line to risk the possibility of her trying to make a break for it, so naturally he figured he was simply taking a much needed precaution on her behalf- especially since she happened to be under his supervision now. He was going to be held responsible for each and every action she took, and God only knew what that entailed. If Anya hadn't stepped in the way she had to pull some last minute strings, Buffy Summers would probably still be sitting in her cell counting the dots on the ceiling instead of ordering up a nice hearty breakfast on his tab. He also had an inkling that her behavior was going to start drawing some rather disapproving glances and unwanted attention if he didn't get in there soon and calm her down. "Let me know when the court approves the order."

"Well, considering the fact that she's been nothing more than a prisoner all these years, you can understand the-"

"Got that part just fine. Her consent wasn't enough to exhume her mum." He continued to watch the petite blonde at war with herself a moment longer while a faint, but obvious start of a smile began to take shape upon his countenance. "Although, come to think of it, maybe there's something else you could do for me, pet."

"I'm your boss, Spike, not your pet. That's what cats and dogs are for. Some even cost a lot of money, but both are better than small irritating children."

"It's an endearment," he murmured, clearly exasperated.

"What do you need? And make it quick, because I'm already running late for my meeting."

"The guards at the facility where the Summers girl is serving out her sentence," he replied simply.

He detected a brief pause and what sounded like papers being shuffled about on a desk. "What about them?"

"Pretty much got a statement from her that they were havin' a little fun on the side to get her to obey and mind the rules."

"You're talking about sexual gratification, aren't you? Because that already goes against and violates company policy. If any of those men are going to gain any satisfaction from pleasuring themselves that way, they need a free hand or a strip club. I mean I really don't have much say there either way, but I can recommend that they be temporarily suspended without pay. Of course, once they realize it was you who blew their whistles, you'll want-"

"Don't think it'll be a problem, but thanks for your concern," he offered dryly.

"Actually, I was afraid it would make us look really bad and then I'd have to give a speech about decorum and lack of tact. How do you feel about being downgraded to a career in public speaking?"

"Very funny." He quickly cut her off and made his way back through the entrance of the diner, his strides brisk but not without purpose as he stopped at the booth he'd chosen prior to taking the call, sliding into a seat opposite the woman who was still cuffed to a metal bar. She stopped suddenly and met his enquiring gaze, and for the first time since they'd arrived, he noticed with more than just a little regret that her wrist was bleeding and swollen from her numerous failed attempts at trying to free it. Keeping his blues trained on her, he slowly reached across the table and gingerly enclosed his fingers over it, not at all surprised when she flinched and angled her body even further away from him. "Easy, love. Just thought we'd go and get this taken care of."

She laughed, her green eyes brightening. "Feeling guilty for treating me like a hostage?"

He lightly ran a thumb over her wounds, watching her wince upon impact. "Well, technically, that's not all that far from the truth now, is it?"

"Right, because _technically_ I'm still a prisoner."

"There's protocol to be followed, guidelines to-"

"Yeah, and apparently those guidelines don't always apply to a man with a badge."

"Bugger this." Leaning back, he regarded her with an unreadable expression, careful not to let on just how much that statement had affected him. And it shouldn't have. Not really. Under normal circumstances he honestly wouldn't have thought bleeding twice about it. But whatever it was that was making him strangely sympathetic to her plight refused to stay silent. "Maybe not for the men who hurt you, but I'm not them. And as sodding hard as this may be for you to conceive, I don't condone what was done to you, Buffy. In fact, I'm doing what I can to make it right. Let's just say I'd have dealt with it a lot differently if it were left entirely up to me."

"Because of what you are," she mused, rolling her eyes.

"No, and I told you to drop it."

"You wanted me to take you at your word, Spike. Fine. I just need you to know you'll take me at mine. We don't have to make with the share time or anything, but you do have to have my back."

"Already done." He unclasped the cuff from the confining metal and urged her to stand, signaling briefly to the waitress to give them a few, while directing the petite woman in front of him towards the restrooms located at the back of the establishment. He glanced both ways before quickly shoving her into the one reserved for women, her obvious squeak of protest lost on him as he securely activated the electronic lock that signaled the single stall would be occupied. He loosened and opened the cuff that continued cutting into her skin, instructing her to run some soap and water over it while he punched in the override code for the first aid box situated on the wall above her head.

"Spike?"

"Boost yourself up on the counter so I can see to that, yeah?"

"You don't have to-"

"I do," he put in, as he began pulling out some antiseptic and gauze, noticing that for once she didn't argue and immediately hoisted herself up beside him, her back to the large mirror that occupied an expansive stretch of wall in the surprisingly miniscule space. He heard her sharp intake of breath as he cautiously dabbed the cool liquid over the affected area, her teeth closing themselves over her bottom lip as she tried to ignore the pain. When he was sure he'd thoroughly disinfected the cuts, Spike began to carefully to wrap the gauze around them, applying it as gently as he could without causing her further distress.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He only shook his head. "Should have never left it on in the first place. Don't know what I was thinkin'."

"You thought a lot of that woman who died to come find me," she pointed out. "I mean you didn't even know her. You didn't know _me_."

"Didn't like the way she-" He paused, his blues training themselves on the tiles below, as he sought purchase for the words he wanted without shedding too much light on the more intimate details of the case. They wouldn't have been classified anymore, at least not to her, but the manner in which the Hart woman had been found was bound to strike a sensitive chord. Bollocks. "How he left her," he finished lamely. "Poor bird never got to give her nibblet a proper goodbye. Can't even begin to imagine what it was like for you seeing your mum that way. Wankers just hauled you off and put you away. Wasn't right."

"Hey, look on the bright side. At least you finally got to use those handcuffs on me. And to think, I didn't even have to beg this time."

He gritted his teeth, fighting to keep that other part of him in check. The part that was dangerously close to shifting to the surface if the bint didn't watch her step. "Don't do that."

She shrugged. "Do what?"

"Try to rationalize this into what it's bloody well not. You saw something that night, Buffy. You might not have realized it at the time, but if you could just think back real hard, maybe you could churn it out in that noggin of yours."

"Doesn't matter. Much as I want it to, it doesn't. It's already too late to make up for all the years I've lost." She hopped up off the counter, straightening the floral patterned hoodie she wore, courtesy of an early morning shopping trip at his behest. Her fingers fumbled a bit as she clumsily zipped it up a bit further to hide the cleavage the white tank top underneath revealed, uncomfortably placing her arms across her chest. Her blonde hair was a collected in a small clip at the back of her head, a few stray strands framing her pretty face, as she jutted her chin out somewhat defiantly towards him. "I never even got to finish high school, Spike. Not that it would've been of the good if I had, mind you, because it wasn't like any of my friends could even look at me the same after the- what happened and...what they did to me. I mean I was basically your average run of the mill criminal, minus the actually having done anything bad stuff. It really cramps your style. Lots of times, lots of different ways, and occasionally they still used force despite the fact that I cooperated the majority of the time."

"They teach you to walk that hunched over, too?" he asked her, his eyes soft, but his tone firm.

She snapped to attention, her body tensing rather subtly. "I'm sorry?"

"The last thing I'd ever do is pry and pump you for that kind of information, love, but I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to take your shirt off."

"Okay, you did just witness me practically pouring my heart and soul out to you, didn't you? I was actually trying to have a real conversation with a man who just told me he had my back, and _this_ is the thanks I get? Are...are you out of your mind?!" Her first instinct was to try for the lock that was still activated, and much to her dismay, the stupid contraption wouldn't budge an inch. The only other means of escape included a small air vent located to her right and a sky window approximately the size of a small beach ball. Add it all up and she was screwed. In more ways than one. "I knew there had to be a reason you took me back here. I knew it. God, I'm so lame. I'm just...all you're after is a piece of ass. This entire thing was, well, it wasn't _even_ a thing, because-"

"Tryin' to save your ass," he corrected. "There's a bloody distinction there."

"Oh, please. You just asked me to take my clothes off. There's nothing bloody about it."

"Wouldn't have had to be quite so blunt about it if you weren't such a stubborn little chit and had actually confided in me before we got here now, would I?" he interjected.

"What are you even talking about?"

"Take off your shirt, pet. Won't touch you, I promise." As if to prove his point, he held both of his hands up in front of her in a white flag gesture of surrender, raising his brows as he wiggled his digits.

"I already told you what they did to me. Isn't that enough?"

"It's not, no. And if you're doing it right, sex usually doesn't involve this kind of abuse unless the bloke initiating it wants to keep a bird in line."

Her cheeks held just the faintest shade of crimson. "That's none of your business."

"Do it myself if I have to."

"Then it really isn't up to me, is it?" she retorted.

"Force to be reckoned with, you are. Didn't have nearly as much bite back in the pen. Maybe I'll just call ahead and pencil you in at the nearest clinic. Heard they're prone to needles and such over there."

"Fine. Fine, fine, fine. You win." She huffed out an irritated breath, making sure her back was to him, while she worked on peeling off the hoodie that fit snugly over her small frame. Her tank top and bra came next, both of which were tossed onto the same counter she'd sat upon several minutes prior. Enclosing a palm over each of her breasts, she slowly began to turn around, only to find herself being pushed roughly up against the door, as a strong hand gripped the left side of her bare waist, a thumb and index finger tentatively running the length of a series of bruises that should have been a lot worse than they were.

Buffy flinched beneath a touch he'd practically guaranteed her wouldn't come, and braced both her hands against the contraption to steady herself. This wasn't like all of the other times. The other men. He wasn't making threats on her life or well-being, and his odd, but genuine show of concern was something she was continually failing miserably at in terms of decoding. It didn't make sense. She was supposed to be shutting him out. Instead she was basically giving a man she barely knew a free peep show at her expense.

"How long have these been here?" Spike inquired, bringing her out of her reverie.

"I don't-"

"You do," he pressed, but didn't raise his voice. "How long?"

"Since last night. Why?"

"Almost faded," he stated quietly.

"Well, yeah," she corroborated with discernible aloofness. "It's what bruises usually do when they go away, so what's with the cryptic?"

"Beg your pardon, love?"

"What's going on? You'd think somebody just took your best toy away."

Spike stepped back and placed his hands deep within the pockets of his jeans, his brow already creased in contemplation. If his reasoning was at all correct- and at this point, it was still very much a long shot, it would go a long way in explaining why someone had gone to great lengths to try and put an end to it before it had even begun. Seers were privy to that kind of information, and he had it on good authority that a witch possessed such capabilities if she happened to be well-versed in casting a particular type of spell. But until he knew for sure, it was best not to worry the girl silly with something he may or may not be blowing out of proportion. "It's nothing," he managed.

"Yes, but I bet you have a something face," she guessed. "Of course, it's not every day that you ask a girl to strip. Or, you know, it could be that it is and you're just disappointed by what you see."

"Hardly. But a set of bruises like that aren't about to pull a vanishing act overnight." Without bothering to elaborate, he simply walked over and picked up her pile of clothes, handing them back to her over her shoulder. "Doesn't add up."

"Doesn't add up?" Buffy repeated, as she started to dress herself again, thoroughly grateful she would no longer be half naked in his presence. "Is there something wrong?"

"Won't know for sure 'til we pay a visit to a good friend of mine."

"Oh. Great. Looks like I get to be someone's guinea pig."

"Not that kind of friend."

"Really? Because it sounds like this _acquaintance_ of yours is all gung-ho with conducting experiments and being overjoyed at the prospect of having their very own lab rat."

"She's not like that."

"She?"

"Buggering hell, Summers."

"You know, this little partnership would work a lot better if you were actually upfront with me." She angled her body towards him now, steadily planting her hands on her hips. "And did it ever occur to you that my so-called hunched overness was from hunger pains? Hmm? I could practically eat a horse and you took me out of there before I could even order. Not much of a gentleman after you get what you want, are you?"

"You're off your bird. I've got nothing but your best interests at heart." He dropped onto the sturdy wooden bench slanted up against the wall, crossing his ankles and planting his arms over his chest. " 'Sides, what I _want_ are answers, and you've yet to give 'em to me. Might even be able to get you a nice shiny school diploma once you're cleared and free, too. But you need to work with me here. Not a mind reader."

"That goes both ways," she confirmed, barely loud enough for him to hear.

He tilted his head to the side, his blues narrowing. "What are you on about?"

"You told me to leave it alone, that you didn't want to talk about it. But people don't usually say that unless they have something pretty big to hide."

"We've been over this, love. Wouldn't have been able to spring you from the joint if I wasn't who I said I was. My partner would be more than happy to verify, if that's what you-"

"You don't have a reflection."

It was the first time in a long time that Spike hesitated and veritably stumbled over a response like a bleeding amateur- and that was being exceedingly kind in retrospect. To say he was surprised would have been a terrible understatement. Her observation was both simple and yet so strangely convoluted, that whichever way he attempted to skirt around the impending roadblock would only leave more questions in its wake. Questions that would only serve to contradict the lack of answers he could provide her when he'd just asked the very same of her in return.

No one had ever gotten this close. Well, there was Rupert, and he'd considered the bloke to be more of a mentor than anything else- teaching him to hone his skills for the better and accept the uniqueness of his condition. He would be forever indebted to him for that, and although they didn't always see to eye to eye, they'd gone and formed an unlikely friendship between them. Much as Spike had tried to deny it, he was relieved to finally confide in someone who understood and accepted him as he was.

He didn't have to put up a shield and pretend with Giles. The poof always saw right through him and had even glimpsed his true nature on several rare occasions. Occasions when Spike had allowed anger to get the best of him and foolishly let his guard down. It was nothing he was especially proud of, and he feared that the woman that now stood in front of him wouldn't be nearly as forgiving of it. She may have been accused of a crime dealing in magic and the dark arts, but it didn't necessarily mean she was prone to understanding the veracity of what existed beyond the realm of reality. Creatures that shouldn't be, but were. Monsters who didn't spend their nights concealing themselves beneath the comfort of a child's bed, but candidly roamed the busy streets of Los Angeles with the face of a human being.

And he should know, because he was one of them.

"Spike?"

"Wanted you to drop it, pet," he muttered more to himself than to her. "Wanted you to just leave it. But you won't, will you?"

"I'll tell you what you can drop," she supplied. "You can drop the act."

"You think that's all that was? An _act_?" He straightened and picked himself up, carefully advancing towards her with each deliberate step, his eyes locking with hers. "Would've been a footnote in history if I wasn't what I am. Done a lot of good since then. Girl who turned me must have thought so, too, although I'm not altogether sure about that, 'cuz if you recall what I told you earlier, the poor chit wasn't always right in the head. Bad for me, as I'd already fallen head over heels in love with her. Had me by the shorthairs. But she took off with her sodding sire, she did. Abandoned her most prized creation. That's when I got real busy with right and wrong and decided to go out and win myself a soul. Had a witch point me in the right direction and fought to the death for what I lost. In the vaguest terms, of course- what, with already being dead and all. Still share my body with a demon, but my conscience is clear." He rolled his eyes. "Well, mostly."

"Is that why you brought me back here? To hurt me? Are you gonna-"

"Don't bite people. Not anymore. Haven't for over a hundred years. I want to help you. That hasn't changed."

"Great, and now that we've cleared that up, could you do me a favor and open the door please?"

"Buffy."

Her features were unreadable, but her intonation was adamant. "Open the door, Spike. And just for the record, I so don't even _want_ to hear the story behind that name."

"Not above admitting I made a lot of wrong bloody calls," he insisted. "But it's all in the past now. Dru, Angelus, all of it. If you let me, I can-"

"What are you?"

It was put forth with such contempt that he couldn't help but wince. She was looking at him like he was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of someone's shoe. "Thought it was obvious," he replied simply. "Vampire."

"Oh, God." She threw her fists against the door, banging on it with all her might, while she frantically searched for any other means of freeing herself, her breath starting to come in painfully ragged gasps. "Help me! Somebody help me! I'm in here! Help!"

"Cue the girl power bit." He quickly clamped a hand across her mouth, an arm enclosing itself just above her chest as he pulled her back and turned her around, slamming her back into the wall with a bit more force than he would've liked. He instantly regretted it the minute he saw the fear spring up into her green orbs, her body visibly trembling beneath his hold. He could actually feel it as a shiver began to wind its way through her spine, and he reluctantly let up just a fraction of an inch, bringing his face close to hers, his blues somewhat troubled. "Not the smartest thing to do, love. Pretty stupid, actually. Thought for sure you had a brain you were usin' up there." He professed a needless sigh, and shut his lids a moment. "And just so we understand each other, I already took the liberty of de-activating the audio before we came in. Jammed it all up. No one can bloody hear you, so you're breakin' out into hysterics for nothing. Didn't think you'd strike up the band upon hearin' the news, but I also didn't fancy you going for the damsel routine, either."

"You don't know anything about me," she hissed.

"Not yet. But we're stuck together, sweetheart. For twenty-four hours, at any rate. I'll wager I'm not so bad once you get to know me."

"If you're talking in the most intimate sense of the word, you can seriously forget it."

"How fast they change their tune," he quipped, smiling. "Though I think you and I both know that's the very least of your worries right now."

"Yeah, because vampires aren't real. I know this. You're completely deranged. This is just some insane ploy you've devised to get me to comply. Monsters don't exist, you idiot, and the person you should probably be chatting with right about now is your therapist."

"That right? Well, if it helps you to sleep all safe and sound in your beddy-bye at night, you're welcome to try and convince yourself. I'm just tryin' to prepare you for what's out there. Plenty of nasties who would love to make you a meal and have you for dinner. Gobble you up bit by bit, piece by piece. Our beastie isn't in that ballpark, but he gets his jollies on by draining women dry. Not someone I'd reckon you'd enjoy meeting in a dark ally in the pitch black. But by all means, have at it."

Buffy trained her gaze on the tiny sky window, her brows knitted together in uniform solidarity. Seemingly defeated, she finally slid into a sitting position upon the cold floor, resting her chin upon arms propped up by her knees. "You can walk in the daytime."

"I can," he said slowly.

"Doesn't that go against everything you stand for? Vampires are supposed to turn to ash. Go up in flames the second they taste sunlight. It's been part of the mythology for years. _Fictional_ mythology."

"It has, and I won't deny that it has some merit. I've merely found a way around it."

"That ring," she reasoned. "The silver one? I told you it looked a lot like a wedding band."

"Courtesy of a mate of mine," he confirmed. "Helps me do my job, too. Comes in right handy when you work homicide. Daylight won't prevent some wanker from offing someone once they've got themselves an agenda. "

"You still need blood, though."

"Need as much as want. Know a bloke at the butcher shop who isn't in the mind to question it and gives me a pretty sweet deal. Can't complain, really. Not altogether adverse to human food, either. Place just down the road makes a tasty onion blossom."

"Does your partner know?"

"No, and under the circumstances, it's for the best. Less he's made aware of, the better. Not out to make a name for myself, and I take pride in what I do. Wouldn't be worth it to compromise my chances now."

"So I gather you'll be using the cuffs on me again when we-"

"Wasn't on my list. Way I figure it, you don't have to like me. Sure as hell wasn't in the brochure when we met, was it? Don't even see a reason to implement it. Man who killed your mum isn't concerned with pleasantries. He only has one objective, pet, and more than ever, that objective is you. Have some thoughts of my own about that, and once we stop in and see my friend, things'll start falling into place. If you can hang around that long, that is."

"Yeah, I mean, it...it's nothing personal or anything, but I really-"

"Want me to keep my distance? Don't see that being a problem. Happy to accommodate your desire for space."

"Great."

"I'm not a bad man, Buffy. Just want to make sure you know that."

"You're not a bad man, Spike, because you're not a man," she emphasized, showing just the faintest hint of remorse. "You were all big with the sinning before I was even born."

"Right then." He couldn't ignore the sharp stab of pain that hit in a heart that wasn't even beating. She hadn't taken it as easily as his mentor had, but he should have prepared himself for that. Should have, but didn't. And that was it, wasn't it? It had been so entirely spur of the moment that he hadn't gotten a chance to break it to the chit a bit more gently. Instead he'd laid it on thick and made her afraid of him. Not that she would've reacted differently if he'd had a biography typed up, but it may have lessened the blow just a tad. "Let's go see about gettin' you some breakfast," he advocated. "Still my treat, of course."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," he reaffirmed. "Wouldn't dream of denying it to you 'cuz we had a spat. You're more than welcome to whatever opinions you've got, love. Grateful to have it all out in the open, yeah?"

"Not so much from your perspective," she noted, shrugging.

"No, s'pose not. But maybe, someday, if you'd feel so inclined, it wouldn't bloody hurt to have a crumb or two thrown my way."

"Maybe someday," she agreed, in what he presumed was barely a show of truce. "If I'm feeling so inclined."

He bestowed her with a beautifully tragic smile as he released the lock on the door and typed a code into the keypad, aptly re-triggering the sound mechanism before they exited prior to making their way back toward the front of the diner. Spike waited until Buffy had seated herself before he joined her on the opposite side of the booth, nonchalantly placing a menu in front of each of them- never failing to catch the rather curious glance she directed at him while she watched him browse through the various choices scattered upon the laminated pages.

He sensed an incoming on his micro cell and tapped it to acknowledge the message, playing it back just as the waitress approached their table, touchpad in hand and a beaming grin on her face. Anya had come through for him after all and gotten the exhumation order approved, also telling him in no uncertain terms that a couple of guards at the penitentiary were going to be crying big buckets of salt this Christmas because they'd been relieved of their duties indefinitely pending further investigation regarding the unlawful conduct of a prisoner. Smirking slightly to himself, he went ahead and rattled off an eggs and bacon combo with a buttered croissant. Not like the cholesterol was going to kill him.


	5. Chapter 5: Fish Out of Water

Note: If a reviewer that chooses to take the 'guest' route is going to try and call me out on certain points of the story, then at least leave me some way to contact you so I can address said issues personally. Otherwise, that pretty much tells me everything I need to know. As mentioned in my profile, I write for fun. It's not my profession, and it took a bit of courage to start sharing my work. If you continue seeing these consistent plot holes you've pointed out, then feel free to move on. And for the record, if I apparently wasn't clear on some things, I've since revised a couple of things in this chapter.

Chapter Five: Fish Out of Water

_Cemetery_

12:03 PM

Spike Pratt idly drummed his fingers upon the steering wheel, feigning interest as his partner Xander Harris carefully edged his beat-up ride into a slot several feet away, signaling to the bleached blonde before exiting the vehicle. The vampire acknowledged the other man only briefly before re-directing his attention to the body still occupying the passenger seat next to him. "You sure about this, pet?"

Buffy simply shrugged, as her right hand toyed briefly with the door handle, a light sigh escaping her fragile frame. A frown proceeded to etch itself clear across her delicate features, and after wrestling with further contemplation of the minor dilemma nagging her, she quickly yanked it back and placed it within the confines of her lap. Her green eyes averted themselves to study the car mat situated beneath her feet, its generic pattern as washed out and dismal as the clouds during a freak rainstorm. "Too late to back out now, right?"

"It's not," he conceded, as he hesitantly reached out, his fingertips barely grazing her jawline. She reluctantly angled her face toward him, and breath he didn't need caught in his throat when he noticed the tears lining her cheeks, a heart that wasn't beating threatening to break again in his chest. Her request for space be damned, he didn't regret the gesture for a second. He was just itching to take her into his arms and comfort her, but whenever he thought back to her reaction at the diner, he mentally berated himself for being such a ponce. "No one says you have to be here. It's routine for the investigation, of course, but I'd understand if it's too much. You just say the word and you can stay here all nice and comfy like 'til it's done."

"It's just...these places kind of give me the wig, you know?"

"S'pose I would if I knew what that meant," Spike retorted softly, grinning.

"It gives me the creeps," she elaborated quietly. "I mean I never even went to her funeral. It was...well, it was held here, but they wouldn't let me go. I begged and I pleaded with the warden, but they were pretty firm about that. I even submitted a formal request. Naturally, as fate would have it, the request was denied, too. Guess they didn't want Joyce's killer daughter showing up in cuffs and damaging the credibility of their institution, right?"

"Buffy, love, you-"

"I'll be okay," she assured him with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Go. Do what you have to do. I'll be here when you get back."

"Better be," he advised as he reached for the baseball cap cradled beneath his visor, concealing a few stray blonde curls that had somehow managed to escape. "Don't want to have to send a search party out this time of day. Too many sodding people in this city need a coffee fix and the traffic's bloody horrific."

She smiled, sniffling just a bit as she swiped at her nose. "Why are you being so nice to me? I was such a bitch to you at breakfast this morning, and I should so be the one apologizing here. You told me something pretty big and I just went off on you like a-"

"It's fine," he confirmed, as he abruptly let himself out of the car, stopping to lean through the open window as he suddenly thought better of it. There was a time, years ago, when he would have considered himself essentially heartless and void of feeling or forgiveness, making him a bit worse for wear. But regardless of the fact that his wounds were still fresh from their earlier encounter, it didn't mean he was going to pass up the opportunity to extend an olive branch, no matter how small. "And just for the record, you were _real_. Only known you a few hours now, and you've already convinced me I need to try harder to spring you from that sorry excuse for a prison. Doesn't happen often in my line of work, though I s'pose you've already come to that startling conclusion all by yourself."

"You'll tell me, won't you?"

"Tell you?" he returned, not quite sure what exactly she was referring to.

"About my mom? If you...if she's in there. I need to know, Spike."

"Sit tight," he murmured, as he took off in search of Harris, his heightened hearing leading him to a plot of land where his partner stood talking to two other men, the designated area already in the process of being excavated. A large mound of dirt had been roughly displaced, and the top of a cream colored coffin was visible from his current vantage point, only partially resurrected from its resting place below the earth.

"Guess I can see why you left me hanging," Xander addressed him, tossing a quick smirk his way before he averted his gaze to watch the coffin being raised and delicately lowered at a snail's pace onto the meticulously landscaped patch of grass beside them. "Miss Twenty-Four Hour Furlough is quite the hottie."

Spike merely raised a brow. "It's not what it looks like, mate."

"Hey, no, of course not. Wasn't what I was implying at all. Nope, no siree." He promptly shook his head, professing a slight chortle in response. "Anyway, Anya filled me in after you called her this morning. Got the rundown on those dirty, sex-crazed guards and the whole deal, so I guess I'll accept your lame apology for being a no-show. Meanwhile, in the land of harsh realities, Jennifer Hart's body is still missing under those very mysterious and unexplained circumstances, and Willow still won't go out with me."

"What a bloody revelation," the blonde quipped. "If that's all you've got-"

"To put it in a language you'll understand, we've decided to keep Operation Houdini under wraps," he continued, easily ignoring the jab. "I also wouldn't wanna do you the petty disservice of putting you out with those publicity savvy media hounds you've grown so fond of."

"Wise move. Surprised the wankers back at the prison haven't spilled their guts yet."

"Yeah, well, you can thank Anya for that one, too."

"Terrific." He dug around in his coat pocket until he found a pack of cigarettes with half the contents already whittled down, warily contemplating his options as he withdrew one and placed it between his lips. He finally flicked open his chrome zippo lighter and calmly lit it, gratefully inhaling and expelling the smoke, readily surrendering himself to the same habit he'd been trying so hard to break. It was ironic in and of itself, considering his supernatural status basically rendered any impending health issues completely moot.

"Boy, she must really be doing a number on you."

Spike merely shot him a glare. "Beg your pardon?"

"The smoking," Xander pointed out.

"_Yeah_, what of it?"

"I had a bet going down at the station that you couldn't last until the New Year. Looks like I'll be moving in to collect before the day is out."

"That's nice for you," he muttered. "But it's not the girl, you bleeding poof. Just had a lot on my mind lately. Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

"Somehow I really doubt that."

"You gentleman ready?" One of the men who'd been deep in conversation with Xander prior to Spike's arrival had approached them, mindfully glancing at each of them in turn, his solemn brown eyes reflecting just the barest hint of impatience. His gray hair was shaved at the temples, and he wore a neatly trimmed beard, his nose long and prominent.

"Yeah. Spike, this is Jeffrey Crandell. He's from the coroner's office. Jeff, this is my partner, William Pratt."

"Pleasure." He abruptly motioned to his left, his expression remaining impassive. "Jimmy, get it open!"

"Right then," Spike offered, crushing his cigarette beneath the toe of his boot. "I gather you blokes like to get down to business."

"I like my Monday mornings like I like my coffee, son. Straight up black. Your request was...jarring, to say the least. Got me up and out of bed after a long day's work."

"Try getting called out to a crime scene for a lawyer's dead wife in the dead of night."

"What exactly is it you boys hope to find out here today, anyway?" he asked rather bluntly. "Isn't it better to just let the poor woman rest in peace?"

"That all depends on whether or not we find the bird in her casket now, doesn't it?"

"This gravesite hasn't been disturbed since she was laid to rest," he noted, shrugging. "The guys that watch this place watch it like a hawk. We've got surveillance around the clock. Anybody that's stupid enough to try and pull the wool over us would find themselves apprehended the minute they approached the front gate. Visitors are always screened with their identification cards before they're allowed access during hours of operation. Somebody sticks out, we call you guys."

"Take you long to memorize that, did it?"

"I'm just saying, you've got nothing to worry about, and in the interest of saving us the-"

"Mr. Crandell?"

The coroner ardently turned toward his assistant, a short man with gray eyes sporting a tiny tuft of auburn hair upon an otherwise balding head, a pair of thick spectacles gracing the bridge of his nose. "This better be good, Jimmy."

"It's empty, sir."

"Come again?"

"The coffin," Jimmy sputtered, backing off just a tad. "It's empty. There's...there's no body inside. Look."

He was right.

There was no indication, aside from the headstone, that Joyce Summers had ever been buried in the narrow casket with the cream colored finish and the soft white interior. Yet Buffy had confirmed that there had indeed been a funeral held here for her mother in this very cemetery seven years earlier- not to mention the police report that had been filed the tragic day in question. But unlike the Hart body in the morgue, there wasn't any ash remaining to account for the disappearance. Spike had already surmised any trace of it would have faded long ago if Joyce's body had begun the accelerated rate of decomposition Jennifer's had succumbed to under Rosenberg's watch. It had taken only a handful of seconds for that metal slab to rid itself of any sign that the young woman sprawled out on the bed in the seedy hotel room had ever been there to begin with. The devastation her husband and daughter were currently feeling right now was likely beyond measure.

"You mind filling me in on just what the hell is going on here?" Jeffrey demanded.

"Why don't you tell us?" Spike prompted, as he tilted his head to the side in amusement. "After all, you're the big man on campus, right? Got everything under control. Never once stopped to consider someone or something might have slipped past your state of the art security."

"_Something_?" the coroner reiterated. "Are you trying to tell me an animal did this?"

"No, I'm telling you you need to consider the possibility that there are other forces at work here."

"I've only had this job a couple of months, son, so I'm afraid you're going to have to be a heck of lot more clearer than that."

"He's most likely suggesting that it could've been aliens," Jimmy vouched proudly, a big smile emerging across his countenance. "Little green men? I saw this documentary the other day on abductions, and this sure as heck fits the profile, sir."

"Uh huh, and just what did these...little green men of yours use to take the body with them?" Xander asked, fighting hard to keep his expression completely neutral as he continued to stare at the miniscule man dressed in black slacks and a sky blue business shirt that very nearly denied him the right to breathe.

"The same thing they use to implant those chips in the back of your neck."

"Do you want me to set him up with Harmony?" the brunette prompted. "Because I'm thinking this could be a match made in heaven."

"Might give him a run for his money if it involves a breadbox," Spike sided, a grin taking shape across his profile. Clearing his throat, he turned back to the two men in front of him, his own patience progressively waning and becoming almost as thin as what was left of Jimmy's hair. "Much as I wish your alien theory were true, I highly doubt they came all the way down here with the intention of abducting a corpse when they could've got their jollies experimenting with live flesh. 'Sides, conspiracies only carry as much weight as the git whose doing the storytellin'. In other words, you've got nothing."

"Best man up and forget about it," Xander chimed in with a single nod. "Probably the only way you'll save face once the men at the top of the food chain get wind of this."

"I'd like copies of your surveillance footage spanning the last twenty-four hours, Crandell. Be a good boy and have it sent to my office. Don't expect to find anything, but it's procedure. I'm sure you understand." He spared one last glance at the open coffin before turning on his heel and walking away. "We're done here."

"Uh, Pratt?"

"Not now, Harris. The idea was to storm away in a huff and make it look like we're too busy to deal with their incomp-"

"Yeah huh, only speaking of _looks like_, in this case it probably is. But I'll remain speculative for the time being, and say it just _looks_ like your girlfriend is trying to stage a daring escape over there. Seeing as she's been trusted in your care until her timer goes off, I figured this was on a need to know basis."

"Bollocks," he drawled. "Knew I should've used the cuffs."

"They're not just for foreplay, you know."

"Ha bloody ha. If I'm not back in ten minutes, call it in. Otherwise, hold off 'til I can knock some sense into the bint."

"You don't mean literally, do you? Because then we'd have more than just a runaway fugitive to deal with, and I've already seen enough red tape to last me a lifetime."

"Trust me, I've got this." And with that, he took off at a jog in the direction that Buffy had fled, his undead knack for speed kicking into high gear as soon as he entered the patch of woods that branched off from the grounds of the cemetery.

He'd warned her. He'd sodding warned her, and the girl, stubborn as ever, continued to meddle with and challenge his authority until she'd nearly pushed it to the brink. He thought a spot of leniency might actually do her some good, considering the unjust treatment she'd been receiving prior to release, but like everything else, his generosity had come back to bite him right in the ass- or close enough to it. The demon inside him was raging, struggling to break free, and if there was any hope of reigning it in, he desperately needed it before he found her. He couldn't risk unleashing that side of him on her. Despite how utterly infuriated she continued to make him by pulling such stupid stunts, he repeatedly told himself there had to be a reason.

Spike sniffed the air as he tried to sense her, feeling her out so he could determine and pinpoint her exact location. It was essentially no more than a predator stalking its prey. It didn't matter that he frequently rejected the monster inside of him and used it as a rule to get by from day to day, dutifully overlooking the various urges and cravings his demon got to hunt and kill for the sake of blood. Not even the alternative means to his primary food source availed, as the irresistible thrill of consuming blood from a warm body was always there inside of him, just waiting for its turn to come out and play. He liked to think his soul was the one thing holding it back. Problem was, he wasn't really in the mood to be soulful when his only charge had fled the premises just to get away from him.

Once she'd emerged within his line of vision, Spike gauged the approximate distance before he approached her swiftly from behind, catching her off guard as he propelled her towards the nearest tree. He took care to avoid aggravating the bruises upon her back any further, though he strongly suspected they'd already vanished as a result of her accelerated healing abilities- which meant any fresh ones she incurred would likely be subjected to the same treatment. What he hadn't counted on, however, was the piercing scream she let out, the sound coming awfully close to shattering his ear drum, as she fought to catch her breath.

"Lesson the first, love. If you're tryin' to outrun a vampire, you might want to make sure you've given yourself a bloody good head start."

"Let me guess," she snapped, her chest rapidly rising and falling. "You could smell me?"

"Yeah, that and I also saw you with my own two enhanced vampire eyeballs dashing through the thick of it like a sodding rabbit. If you didn't think I'd find you in less than half of what it took you to get here, I'd say you're a lot dumber than I thought."

"Must take one to know one then."

"Meaning?"

"I'd like to go back to my cell now," she whispered. "Can't you just leave me alone?"

"No. I can't. The safest place you can be is with me. I realize it might take forever and a day for it to sink into that cranium of yours, but I'm still the one chance you've got to prove your innocence." Dropping his hands from her shoulders, he lightly enclosed five fingers around her throat, applying only the barest minimum in terms of pressure. "That said, I'm bloody well through playing. You've been fightin' me every step of the way, pet, and it ends now." He felt her stiffen up at the contact, but held his ground in spite of it, needing desperately to show her who was in charge. It was already killing him to have to resort to such indifference, but he didn't think the reality of what she'd gone and done had hit her yet, grief over her mum notwithstanding. She'd virtually left herself open to attack when she'd fled from the cemetery, and once their beastie got wind of her release from the big house, he'd be using whatever he could to track her down and add her to his guest list. Which meant she needed protection- a shield at best. "Have something else in mind for you, and it's a lot more dangerous than a pair of cuffs. I'm hoping against hope that I won't have to use it, as it'd make both of us bleeding miserable, but at the moment it's all I've got. Truth of it is, I'd honestly hate to mark up that tasty little neck of yours."

"Thought you didn't bite people anymore."

"Not a bite so much as a claim," he replied somewhat suggestively. "Never done it to a human before, though, and as it stands, I'm a bit out of practice in that department. Might take a few tries to get it right."

"Lucky me."

Removing the grip he had upon her throat, he gingerly cradled her cheeks in the palms of his hands, allowing his thumbs to softly graze each of her cheekbones. "Buffy, I'm joking. Not about the claim, of course, but about the- it's nothing I'm proud of. The things I did, I...they put me in a dark corner for awhile. Away from everyone, everything. I know what it's like to have nobody you can turn to. No one to trust."

"So what exactly does this...claim thingy do?"

"Binds a human to a vampire. I'd be able to tell where you are at all times and you'd essentially be mine. It's a fairly non-existent practice now, but back when I used to hunt, my kind tended to prefer it if they were bored out of their gourd and needed someone to play with. Unlimited blood supply, too."

"It's forever?"

"It is," he agreed.

"Then how is that a choice? You'd be making me feel what you feel, making me-"

"That such a horrible thing?" he countered.

"I just don't know anymore." She took a deep breath, inhaling a mix of his cigarettes and soap, her head resting itself on his chest as she cautiously leaned into him, flinching only slightly when she felt his hand gingerly cradle the back of her neck, while the other wrapped itself around her waist. "I thought I could handle this. Being out here. Being where she- we talked about it on the ride over. We talked and talked, and I think we did really good with the talking thing. It's just...I've waited years for answers, Detective Pratt, something that would tell me there was nothing I could have done that night. That it was like you said. I was supposed to be home and I wasn't. I was _supposed_ to cross paths with some sick, twisted demented creep who was probably bent on wanting me dead for no other reason than because I was there. Instead he...got my mom and missed his chance with me." She reached up to wipe away the single tear that trickled past her nose, clutching the thick black wool of his coat. "If I hadn't begged her to hang with my friends, I would've been home. If I hadn't wanted to go to some lame party in the first place, I would've-"

"You would've been _dead_," he concluded.

"But she'd still be here. She wouldn't be lying in the ground somewhere, all cold and alone, and...oh God."

Spike squeezed her tighter, shutting his eyes as she continued to sob against him, her body wracked with unresolved grief. A part of him was relieved she was finally letting go of some of it, and yet there was also the almost bitter realization that it wasn't really over. Not for her. The woman he held close to him hadn't even begun to grasp what was coming- especially if his assumptions at the diner were any kind of warning to take heed to regarding the astonishing healing ability she seemingly possessed. She might not even be aware of the power she could wield if what he surmised had any truth to it. "There was nothing in your mum's coffin, sweetheart."

"Spike, I really don't-"

"You can ask Harris if you don't believe me. You saw him, Buffy. He was right there with me."

"My lawyer was here the day of the funeral. He called me after it was done and told me my dad and Aunt Darlene came to pay their respects."

"This the same dad who walked out of your life ten years ago and didn't even have the decency to visit his daughter in prison?"

She pulled away to stare at him a moment, her green eyes sparkling with fresh tears. "How-"

"Read about Hank in your file. Well, not about the visits, or lack thereof, but it wasn't hard to put two and two together now, yeah?"

"To say it's complicated would be the understatement of the decade," she admitted, her voice on the verge of cracking and barely audible. "On second thought, make that millennium."

He smiled as he drew a couple strands of blonde hair away from her face, subtly curling them behind her ear. "Maybe you can tell me about it someday. About him."

"I somehow doubt you'd find it very stirring," she confessed honestly. "He and my mom fought a lot when I was younger. He hated that I was staying out late. Thought I was wasting my life going to those parties when I should have been home cracking the books. That all I cared about was myself. He was seriously into setting boundaries and trying to set some sort of precedent for our family. Didn't want the neighbors getting the wrong idea about us. It was the last straw when they went and locked me up. I was nothing more than an embarrassment to him. He was ashamed of me and what he was convinced I'd become."

"And your aunt?"

"Must have brainwashed her to accept his ridiculous ideals, because I haven't heard a peep from her since."

"I'm sorry, love. I really am. If there's anything I can do to-"

"You can't," she cut him off.

"Right. But can you at least come back to the car? I've just gotta sort things out with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber back there, and then we'll be off to much greener pastures."

She tensed suddenly, her back straightening. "To see your friend, you mean."

"The one you're already not too fond of? Yeah. Figured we could also pick up some lunch on the way."

"What about you? Don't you...need something, too?"

"If you're referring to blood, I've got plenty in the cooler in the trunk. Plan on havin' a sip or two in just a bit. Really don't need to worry about me, pet. I'm doing just fine."

"I wasn't...hey, _so_ not worrying here," she protested. "Worry free, pal. I just didn't want you going into some scary pale vamp withdrawal before we get there and you start freaking out on me."

"Yeah, that'll happen." He chuckled slightly, but upon seeing the underlying concern beneath the obvious shot, found his features softening considerably. "I'll be all right, Buffy. Survival mode kicked in for me a bloody long time ago. It's not the same fix I'd get if I were drainin' a human dry, but it'll suffice. Always does."

"Really not a nice visual to have," she remarked carefully, scrunching up her nose.

"S'pose it isn't, no." When his micro cell suddenly went off, he deliberately plastered on the most perturbed expression he could muster while he went and activated the call, far too distracted by the girl in front of him and his unrelenting quest to get her to open up than the individual waiting on the opposite end. "Told you I had this, Harris. We're headed-"

"It's a gorgeous day outside, isn't it, Mr. Pratt? Perfect for talking business."

Spike immediately grasped Buffy's hand in his, his blues slowly reverting to amber as he uttered a low growl in his throat, frantically searching the perimeter around him. "Fantastic offer, mate, but not 'til you show yourself." He waited a beat. "Seeing as I don't see you doing that anytime soon, piss off."

"Silly man. If it were at all that easy, William, I wouldn't have bothered to reach you again. Perhaps we can attempt to discuss this like men this time instead of resorting to mindless threats and other such nonsense."

"Nothing more to discuss."

"I urged you to walk away, Mr. Pratt. Urged you to let things be. A little birdie tells me you declined to listen."

"Can't blame a bloke for wanting to see things for himself. It's quite the magic trick you've got going for yourself there, by the way. Must be a real pro now."

"Oh, I am, and it's good of you to notice. So good, in fact, that I've decided to bestow my humblest gratitude on you by showcasing my latest talent. I like to think I'm getting to the...quick of it, so to speak. I trust you'll agree." A cold and uninviting breeze traveled through the air, the leaves on branches that were lifeless and dull, now alive with purpose. "Besides, don't you think it's time the lovely Miss Summers joined her mother?"

Buffy cries of anguish were the last thing he heard before the ground beneath them opened up and started to cave, plunging the young woman into a gaping black hole of nothingness, her grip brutally torn from his as she lost her balance and tumbled into the waiting debris below. "Buffy!" Not recognizing his own shrill inflection as he slid his rigid frame headfirst towards the incoming destruction, Spike blindly extended a hand towards her, barely catching the tips of her fingers with his before she went under, her body dangling helplessly over the edge.

Digging his boots into the earth behind him, his used his strength to haul her up, her hands clawing and vying for purchase around his neck as she clung to him for dear life and instinctively sought safety, her heartbeat thudding violently in his ears. Praying she didn't ream him out for it later, he tightly enclosed his free hand over her right buttock and used his palm to hoist her the rest of the way up, his back hitting the dirt with an unpleasant thud as she toppled over onto his chest. The chaos that had nearly swallowed and consumed her was already in the process of repairing itself from the unforeseen signs of damage, the earth that had been annihilated just a short while ago vastly salvaging any carnage that had been wreaked. Like Joyce's plot in the cemetery, there was no evidence the terrain that surrounded them had been subjected to anything remotely lethal at all, reducing itself to a measly vanishing act, at best.

"You okay, Goldilocks?"

Her lips only inches from his, Buffy wriggled in place for awhile, eventually finding and gathering her bearings enough to shove herself off of him without so much as a reply. Her hair, face and clothes were completely caked with dried dirt from the skirmish, and the mess under her fingernails was faring no better- yet some way, somehow, she still came out of it a stunning vision. Spike held what breath he didn't have, and bit his lip to hold back the involuntary response she'd unknowingly evoked in him, fighting to tame an otherwise unmentioned part of his anatomy that took up residence further south. Assuring himself that it was just a result of their terribly close proximity, he tried to brush it off as best he could, knowing full well he'd have to remedy the situation much later when he was alone and hidden behind the not unwelcome barrier of a closed door.

"You saved me."

"Thought we were clear on that point when you realized you weren't exactly six feet under," he remarked with some nonchalance.

An uncomfortable bout of silence dragged on between them a fraction longer, before she turned to him, the stare she'd fixed him with as perplexing as the reticence. She wove her fingers through her blonde locks, picking out the various clumps of loose soil, her green orbs indecipherable. "What am I, Spike?"

"Sorry, love?"

"Why does he want me? Why is he still trying to kill me?" she pressed. "What _am_ I? It has to be something pretty horrible, right?"

"Buffy-"

"I mean it's not like we caught him robbing our house that night. Nothing of any value was taken, none of mom's good silver was missing, and if he wanted to keep us quiet, he'd just let me take the fall for him in jail. It _doesn't_ make sense."

"Just what I've been saying from the beginning."

"Is it a demon? Am I a-"

"No. Not a demon. Nothing demonic about you, from that cute little nose of yours to your feet. But if the previous successor in your line has fallen, another will be called to take her place. How it always works, isn't it? Might be this magically inclined friend of ours found out your dirty secret seven years ago and knew you were next to be called. Now that it's happened, and the other chit is gone, God rest her soul, and probably by his hand- you're the only thing standing between him and his goal."

"Which is what?"

"Some of 'em only dabble, while others try to raise sodding armies to wipe out the planet. Bleeding difficult to say."

"So I'm..."

"A slayer. One girl in all the world who's been chosen to stop the forces of darkness and quell the spread of its numbers. Always give as good as they get, too, and I've had my share of a few enticing brawls in my time. Bit sketchy on the details where your powers are concerned, but if those bruises were just the tip of the proverbial iceberg, it could be gradual."

"Slayer?"

"A slayer," he echoed. "Supposed to also have some sort of stuffy Watcher guide teachin' you the way of it. No bloody clue where's he's flown off to, but chances are, the big bad that's been pursuing us got to him first. I'd wager there's nothing left of that body, either."

"And vampires?" she offered, the question clearly strained.

"Sworn enemies, platelet. Kill or be killed."


	6. Chapter 6: Off the Record

Chapter Six: Off the Record

_Precinct_

2:26 PM

"Okay, you know that's withholding evidence, right?"

Spike lazily propped his feet upon his desk and crossed his ankles, lightly clasping his hands behind the back of his head, as he bestowed his partner with a rather perturbed glare in response. "I was protecting her, lackbrain. There's a difference."

"Uh, not really, no," Xander Harris vehemently insisted, as he continued to pace the length of the other man's cubicle in the designated bullpen, vigorously running his hands through his dark hair. "You need to tell Anya about this."

"Oh. Well, in that case, let's bloody step on it. We'll just march right on over there and disclose the truth about all of those disappearin' bodies, too. 'Cuz I'm sure that'd go over real well in the grand scheme of things." He abruptly dropped his combat boots to the floor again, casually scooping up a tattered set of folders and placing them into the top drawer of a black file cabinet less than a foot away. "Far as I'm concerned, the only bit of info she should be keen on is the possible connection between Summers and Hart."

"Look, I get that you're still on edge with what happened earlier. I mean it's not every day that the earth opens up and tries to swallow you whole. I'm with you, buddy. I get it. But the sooner we get this done, the sooner we rest easy knowing we can keep our _jobs_."

"Nothing easy about it, Harris, that's the point."

"All right, fair enough. I guess I just don't get why this guy is so hell bent on pushing your buttons. Why you? Why the grudge? It's not like you owe him money from a poker game or anything, right?"

"Lovely thought," Spike mused. "If only it were that simple. Would have paid the wanker's debt off in a heartbeat."

Pausing only briefly, Xander slid halfheartedly into the empty chair on the opposite side of the cramped space, propping a hand beneath his chin as he rested his elbow on the flimsy arm. "So if we're not gonna report the bordering on extreme stalker phone calls by some unidentified assailant who is or isn't our murderer, can we at least talk about them?"

"He called me. Twice. What else is there to talk about?"

"Yeah, see, we're already catapulting into evasive mode here, and I don't like it. He knows you're on the case, man. He _knows_. And correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't knowing and calling eventually lead to killing? Plus, what's with the part about your friends having no idea and the eternal damnation? Did he perform exorcisms for a living before he became a serial killer?"

"Might want to ask him," the vampire quipped. "Why don't I connect you to his hotline?"

"Hey, I'm just saying that maybe we should be on the lookout for a priest."

"A priest," he returned, disbelievingly.

"A crazy priest who belongs to a cult?" Xander tried hopefully.

"Sounds a bit too much like that sorry sod Jimmy with his delusions of aliens and implants. Makes me want to heave. Don't have a bleeding clue how Crandell puts up with that little ponce. Nearly botched up our investigation."

"Except Jimmy the geek extraordinaire might actually be onto something."

"That right," he muttered. "How you figure?"

"Because it seems you also forgot the stuff about a world without light and witches. If what this UNSUB claimed is- I'm not judging you, Pratt. I'm not. It's the last thing I'd do. You were pretty upfront with me down at the morgue the other day. With Willow, too, so I'll give credit where credit's due. But if you're associating with a w-i-t-c-h off the clock, then there's more than one person not complying with the ban here. You'll be held liable if they-"

"The term is Techno-Pagan, you nit. Nice bird, too. Certainly doesn't deserve to be burned at the stake, either. She's helped me out more times than I can count, which is why I'm not giving you a name."

"Helped you out with what exactly?"

"Guess that's between me and her, ain't it?"

"Well, gee, it wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you don't consider yourself a man now, would it? A seriously weird declaration if there ever was one, so you better have a damn good explanation for that, too."

"Bugger off, Harris, and while you're at it, keep your voice down. The fact is there are some things in this world you're just not ready to face. Here endeth this conversation."

"Remember last year when you took one for the team in the line of duty?" he countered.

"Awfully fond of forgetting," the blonde quipped.

"You refused medical attention, Spike. Funny thing is, I could have sworn on the deathbed of my Peach Schnapps drinking Uncle Rory that bullet cut through flesh. Grazed, my butt. There was too much blood on your jacket. _Your_ blood. When you came in the next day you were all calm and collected, and you acted like nothing ever- look, I know what I saw. I couldn't unsee it if I tried. I'm only saying something now because you're my friend and I care."

"What you believe you saw," Spike corrected, as he strode up to him, noticeably agitated. "It was night, Harris. Too bleeding dark to make out anything resemblin' a bullet. Think about that before you start rattling off a bunch of random accusations when the only proof you've got is shoved so far up your ass you'll need someone else to wipe it for you."

"You went and ditched that coat, too, didn't you? I haven't seen you wear it since."

"Yeah, 'cuz God knows it's a real crime against humanity to own more than one," he retorted.

"And you shared those calls with me." Xander picked himself up, readily resuming the repetitious task of pacing until his frustration eventually won over and rendered his actions entirely aimless. "You voluntarily went and shared those calls with me, and I'm in the same line of work you are. You didn't even stop to consider that I might have some questions?"

"Don't be an idiot."

"What the heck are you into? Besides Buffy, I mean."

The muscles in Spike's jaw twitched, the demon in him just barely suppressing a growl as his eyes nearly succumbed to an all too familiar shade of amber. "Tread softly, mate."

Xander sighed, slowly taking a step back as he held out both hands in front of him. "Hey, I'm sorry, okay? It's just...you've been fixated on this girl something fierce from the minute you sprung her from the pen. Then she suddenly gets attacked in the woods by what was apparently the result of an incantation America's Most Wanted cooked up to suck her into the ground and bury her alive. Now that's freaky on a level I never knew existed. You go and stage some daring, yet heroic rescue operation and get crowned her knight in shining peroxide."

"Not a hero, Harris. Just in the right place at the right time. Nothing heroic about it."

"Oh. No. Nothing at all," he added, grinning. "Are you always this modest? She'll probably be throwing herself at you the second she gets back. How is that not a major ego booster?"

" 'Cuz I have it straight from that pretty mouth of hers that she doesn't see me that way and never will. Satisfied?"

"You still carry a torch, though, admit it."

"Do not." He uttered an unnecessary sigh for the sake of dramatics, and closed his lids as he tried to put the woman at the heat of their discussion out of his mind. It was starting to become an increasingly arduous task when his heart refused to cooperate and relieve him of the responsibility. " 'Sides, even if I did, any and all attempts to win her over don't count if I can't convince 'em she's innocent."

"You should take her back to the scene of the crime," he suggested, shrugging. "It might shake something loose."

"She's not ready for that."

"Well, you've got less than twenty-four hours to make her ready for it. Maybe I could convince Anya to give you guys a little more time. Buy you two or three. After all, it's the least I can do after my relentless pursuit to grill you."

"Yeah? Then you'd best try for an expensive restaurant with an attractive waitstaff."

"Wait, she...she wants me to take her out?" Xander sputtered, clearly not prepared for the candid admission. He wretchedly sank back into the chair he'd occupied previously, running a hand over a face that was gradually being drained of color, his brown eyes wide with fear. "Out, as in out on a date out?"

"Please. You just mentioned tryin' to help, and honestly, I don't understand what you're so bloody worried about, anyway. It's not like you'd be cheating on Red or anything. Think of it as taking one for the team."

"I was gonna go the cup of Joe route and call it a day," he mumbled miserably. "No harm, no foul. I guess I just wasn't thinking. Again."

"Probably weren't. See, Anya's a bit more high maintenance. Likes to be treated like a queen. Personally, I'm shocked. Scandalous, is what it is. Seems to have no trouble reigning 'em in, though, so what do I know?"

"But I don't- I really...it's not like that. She's not my type at all, and if any of the stories are...can't you do it?"

"Heard she doesn't like blondes," he confirmed, his visage impassive.

"Too bad, because I've heard they're supposed to have a lot more fun." Cordelia Chase pompously rounded the corner, as Buffy trailed a short distance behind her, her petite frame clothed in a clean pair of jeans and a white sweater that complimented her subtle curves. Her hair hung loosely about her shoulders, and her left cheek was marred with a small scratch she'd incurred during the scuffle near the cemetery, her green eyes unreadable as she nervously placed her arms across her chest.

"You ladies have a good time playing dress-up?" Spike asked, refusing to meet the stare he knew she was directing at him.

"Obviously not as much as you did," Cordelia concluded, noting with some amusement that he was dressed exactly the same as when he'd arrived about forty-five minutes prior, his gray sweater and jeans ensemble covered in grass stains and dirt. "It's well documented that men typically take less than five minutes to shower, so what's your excuse?"

"Well, we all weren't born as naturally glamorous as you, love. And to be perfectly frank, it's not that I don't fancy the stuffy uniform in my locker, it's more along the lines of holding onto what pride I have left while I still can. The lot of us here don't moonlight as models when we leave at the end of shift."

"No, but you should be groveling at my feet and high-fiving me for tipping you off at the hotel."

"Yeah, you got me there. Trouble is, we still don't have a single sodding idea as to who's behind it all."

"Aw, poor baby," she chastised. "Maybe you should schedule a research party. I'll bet Xander can bring the chips and dip."

"Xander's not interested in a party," Xander piped up, answering the inquiry himself. "But it would be great if he actually knew what was going on. I vote for that kind of party."

"Not exactly what I had in mind," Spike informed her, bypassing his partner's request completely. "Might have a lead of sorts in the form of an old friend, though. Headin' over there now. Buffy?"

"Okay," she said quietly. "I, um...I really appreciate the help with the clothes and everything, Cordelia. You really didn't need to do that, so it...thank you. It's been awhile since I've had someone to-"

"You're welcome," the taller woman insisted, as she enveloped her in a quick hug. "I know these two sort of lack the fashion sense required to function on a daily basis, so I'm just happy to be of some assistance. Don't be a stranger, sweetie. Oh, and try and take me up on the shoes if they ever let you out. I really do have excellent taste."

Buffy professed a half smile despite herself. "I'll remember."

"Bloody hell, woman, you're corrupting her already. Have you no shame?"

"About as much as you did when you brought Harmony here and made good use of our utility closet. But honestly, who's keeping track?"

"That was well over a month ago, you daft bint, and we put everything back just like we found it. What's more, we're _over_. Her boyfriend seems to find the feeling absolutely mutual, 'cuz he socked me one good and proper after I left the Hart crime scene. Got an assault charge under his belt now. Surely you must have gotten wind of it."

"It's not the kind of gossip I usually follow, but I'll take it under advisement."

"You do that." Nodding to Buffy, he began to head out, slipping his black pea coat on over his sweater, as he took off toward the nearest exit. She numbly followed him in silence while they made the short jaunt to his vehicle, and appeared to take a rather vague interest in the scenery as he pulled out of the lot and made a right. The opposite sex had often puzzled him greatly throughout his lifetime, but he had an inkling Buffy's problem wasn't due to the situation she'd found herself in after she'd taken off in the cemetery and poured it all out about her mum. It was the reply he'd given her after he confessed to her in no uncertain terms that she was more than likely a vampire slayer in the rookie stage of her calling.

And that was the crux of it, wasn't it? Vampire and slayer in the same sentence, and the violence that both were supposed to enact upon each other regardless of any consequences that arose. She hadn't gotten it through her gourd as of yet that he didn't want to hurt her and had outright refused to throw the reputed rule book out the window. More than anything, he still just wanted to love her, and show her that she _could_ be loved. That the love of which he spoke wasn't conceived by the harshness she'd fallen victim and been subjected to against her will within the bleakness of her cell.

He was already falling for the immense drive she possessed to carry on despite the obstacles standing between her and her freedom- namely that she was proudly willing to stand for it at whatever cost that freedom came at. He rarely ever thought about the future, neglecting to give it even a speck of consideration when his own existence was essentially unlimited, but if it meant having her by his side and being able to worship her with every fibre of his being, he didn't want to let go. He wanted forever.

"Summers? You with me?"

She jumped slightly, and he mentally scolded himself for frightening her, not quite knowing how to approach it from an innocuous perspective. "I am," Buffy sided, her tone faintly audible.

"It's not all as black and white as it seems," he tried. "What I said about the- I'm not your enemy here. I just need you to know that if we're gonna keep workin' together."

"I'll have to get a trainer, won't I?" she queried. "Someone who can educate me in slayer school or whatever."

"You will," he agreed, "but since your Watcher's a no-show, we'll have to remedy that minor setback right quick, won't we?"

She found herself staring at the way his strong hands gripped the wheel, flashing back to the strength she knew they held when he'd pulled her up in the woods. The way they'd caressed her face and held her close when she'd needed to step out of her comfort zone. Her skin had come alive when he'd touched her, and the sensations she'd experienced were something that continually left her with doubt in the way of rationalizing and providing a sufficient series of explanations- much less deny the influence he was having on her any further. "I take it you have someone in mind for the job?"

"There's an old mentor of mine," he started, his blues focused on the road. "Real nice bloke who's taught me a bleeding lot about who I am."

"Is he a vampire, too?"

"Giles? No. But I've shown him my demon on a number of occasions when I found it too hard to control the monster inside me. Lot better about that now."

"Your demon."

"Right. This isn't the only face I wear, pet. Got a much darker one behind it. Learned that it didn't matter so much if I could manage to keep it in check. And so I did."

"Could you show me?"

He raised a brow, just a tad perplexed by the assertion. "No, and I'm not altogether sure what you're gettin' at here, so you'll truly have to forgive me if I can't quite make heads or tails of what it is you really want."

"You," she whispered.

"Come again?" he prompted, breath he didn't desire catching in his throat.

"I'd like you to train me. Be my...Watcher. Seeing as they're either unaware of my condition or just aren't in the business of sending a replacement anytime soon, you'd probably be the best guy for the-"

"Already got a job, Buffy. A fine one, at that. 'Sides, it technically goes against everything those Watchers have in their prosaic contracts. Far be it for me to get in the way of it. Got a contract of my own- a set of morals. Nothing they'd find it in their hearts to abide by. Now, I'll do what I can to shelter you from the nasties, but I can't sit in for the real deal. Not when they wield the power to turn me into a great big hunk of nobody cares pile of ash."

"They'd stake you just for showing me to how to fight?"

"Let's not find out."

"I'd let you do things to me," she promised. "Anything you-"

"Bollocks. You can't mean that."

"Spike-"

"And if you do, then I'm bleeding tired of this other little charade of yours, too." He carefully edged his car onto the shoulder of the deserted street, listening to the tires cascade over rough gravel, while he smoothly brought it to a standstill. Cutting the engine, he reached over and grabbed her before she could protest, ignoring the way she immediately tensed and resisted him, throwing her across his lap so she was straddling him. His hands cupped her outer thighs, hearing her audible gasp as he pulled her closer, settling her over the rather painful erection he'd been sporting at fairly regular intervals in her presence.

She braced her hands over his chest, her green orbs filled with panic, as she tried once more to free herself from his hold. She was vigorously aware that she hadn't yet acquired her full slayer strength, and part of her wondered how much easier it'd be fend him off when she did. The feeling of being pressed up against him wasn't at all unpleasant, and it dawned on her that she'd felt something just like it when he'd saved her.

"You keep that up," he pointed out weakly, "and you'll only make it worse. Just wanted to show you what you do to me, love. Seeing as you don't plan on rectifyin' the situation anytime soon, I suggest you try and refrain from provoking me any further unless you want me to put you in the backseat and have my way with you."

"Teach me," she said again, her fingers hesitantly moving up to trace the contours of his cheekbones.

"Teach you?" he murmured. "Not exactly what I'd call keepin' my distance and awarding you some space."

"Be my Watcher."

"Not gonna happen," he reiterated, shaking his head.

"But you know how to fight," she objected. "_Vampires_ know how to fight. It's like some...prerequisite to the whole creature of the night routine. You could check to see if my mom left anything to me, and I could pay-"

"Don't want your cash, sweetheart, and I bet your dear old mum wouldn't approve of you being so frivolous with it, either."

"Yeah, and there's also that teensy-weensy problem of handing it over to a prisoner, too."

"Harris is workin' that angle as we speak. For what it's worth, I can't see you going back there anytime soon. And for good reason. The evidence against our guy is in your favor. Trust me, that's a bright red check on our end of the spectrum. So, in lieu of your...perseverance, here's what I'm gonna propose. We get to where we're going in one piece and this friend of mine confirms you're the genuine article, I'll see what I can do about showin' you the ropes."

"Thank you, Spike." She wrapped her arms around his neck, as she rocked against him, laughter bubbling up inside her. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Look, it's not that I don't fancy your enthusiasm, pet, but I'd more or less try and bring the celebrations to a screeching halt right now if I were you. I'm glad that you're glad, believe me, but I'm sort of experiencing some minor discomfort here, so if you'd be so kind as to-"

"Oh my God." Her cheeks flushed bright red as she cautiously stilled her movements, gracefully lifting herself off of him and slipping back into the passenger seat, only letting out the breath she'd started containing when she was finally in the clear. "I'm not usually so- you know, I could...I mean if you wanted, I could do something to..." Buffy trailed off, drawing her legs up to her chin, and swiftly enclosing her arms over them. "Never mind."

" S'pose you're gonna tell me I started it."

"Well, you did," she snapped. "Then again, you're also a walking, talking, almost alive male, so I guess it's all you ever think about, anyway. Undead or not, you're all the same."

He gritted his teeth. "You're referring to Harmony."

"Hey, it's none of my business. If you want to mess around with some bimbo after hours, that's totally your prerogative."

"We're not together, Buffy. I wasn't lying when I said it. We're done." He re-ignited the engine, and rapidly picked up speed, careening around another corner, as he tried his best to resume focus on the road. "She didn't mean anything to me. Not like..." _You do_.

"So you just used her when it was convenient for you to get a hard-on. Great. Yeah. Day getting you down? Sure, no problem. Piece of cake. Invite Harmony over and do her at work. Make her scream. And all so you can reaffirm your status as top cop stud when you meet up with the guys in the break room and recall each and every sweaty detail over a nice cool beverage of your choice."

"Okay, one, that sounds like a blooming infomercial. And two? You're jealous."

"I don't get jealous, and even if I did, which I'm already of the not, you wouldn't even be-"

"You feel something," Spike boldly ascertained. "Deny it all you want, love, but there's something there. I might downright disgust you, but you've sure as hell given this plenty of thought, haven't you? Too much for someone who claims she's such a virgin regarding her sodding virtue."

The quiet that followed wasn't uncommon in the wake of the spats they'd both taken pleasure in since she'd first walked into his life, but half of him now wondered if he'd quite possibly gone too far this time. So when he saw her lips move with no sound to follow, he remained very still and busied himself with his zippo lighter, flicking it on and off in an effort to combat the solitude. When that failed to tide him over, he guiltily brought out his pack of unfinished cigarettes, putting one to his lips without lighting it.

"Virtue aside, I, um, lost my virginity not long after they booked me," Buffy divulged, as the shame of it came flooding back to her full force, her voice strangely hoarse while she spoke. She waited a beat, her pulse quickening, wondering if she'd already told him more than she should have. As twisted as it likely was, it oddly seemed right. "I was seventeen. I didn't ask for it and I didn't go out of my way to attract the wrong kind of attention. Not like some of the girls there." She remained oblivious to his hand curling around hers, holding it gingerly in his own, hoping the weight of his chilled palm in hers would calm her. "He took me right in the shower. I was a little late that day, and the others had already finished. He knew there might be some blood my first time, so he..."

"Buffy." He withdrew the cigarette and tossed it onto the car mat beneath his feet.

"I never told anybody, because I fig-"

"Who was it?"

"It doesn't matter now, does it? I was young and I didn't- I wasn't able to fight. I couldn't. I tried, but someone like me wasn't any match for all one hundred and eighty pounds of him. I guess it...after awhile I just gave up and let him do it. It's a lot easier if you don't struggle. If you just be still. If you're still, they can't hurt you as much. You kind of take yourself out of it and pretend, you know?" She smiled painfully, her emerald eyes shining. "I got really good at pretending."

"Who was it?" he inquired again.

"Bobby. The...guard you met when you came to see me. And it wasn't only one time, which I'm sure you saw with the bruises. There were others, of course, but you already knew that, too."

"Won't be going through that ever again," he promised. "Gonna make sure you're-"

"Cordelia told me what your captain did," she acknowledged, "and I'm grateful. Really. But the warden won't take my word over theirs. I'll just be crazy Buffy, the girl who's making up stupid stories because she can't cope with being tossed in the slammer for something she doesn't think she did."

"Maybe you didn't hear me, love. I said you won't be going through it again, 'cuz I don't plan on taking you back there. Ever. By the time I'm done telling Anya about everything in my report, we'll have more than our share to qualify for house arrest. I'd look after you, and you'd stay with me 'til it's over. We'll sort it all out and get you your life back."

"I'm not even sure I know what that is anymore."

"Being the slayer still makes you human. Nothing'll change that. You'll have more responsibilities, but it's not as bad as it sounds."

"So if this friend of yours is apparently Glinda the good witch, why hasn't she taken this creep on herself? What's stopping her?"

"More magic. If she reveals herself to him, it's all over. He'll trap her, turn her in. And she's hardly Glinda," Spike asserted, his eyes tracking the white car that fell a short ways behind them in the rearview mirror, noting with some interest that the windows were tinted black. Unable to make the driver, he decided to take a bit of a detour, activating his blinker and making a left onto a narrow, dirt road. When the white vehicle declined to follow and headed north, he came to the conclusion that he was just being sodding paranoid after the previous encounter at the cemetery. "By that, I mean nothing would prevent her from fightin' him every step of the way. She's a right tough chit. Bit like you, actually."

"How'd you meet?"

"Through Rupert. Two of 'em used to go steady or some rot like that. Didn't bother to request the sappy specifics. Bleeding crime is what it is, as he could really use some cheerin' up these days."

"Is she the one who gave you your ring?"

"The very same. Her specialty lies mostly in the net, though. Always has some clue as to what's on the up and up with the magic before I do. She mostly dabbles, but her spells are on target and she's even managed to impress _me_ a time or two."

"What, like that's so-"

"There isn't much I haven't seen, Buffy. It's also why I've been stressing a tad more over this case. Never been one for forming a more personal attachment to the victims, but I've got a soft spot for Jennifer Hart and your mum. They're just a part of the big picture, but I can't forget. Won't forget."

"Am I a part of that picture, too?"

"Bloody right you are. Think you just might be at the center of it all."

"But all I've done is put everybody at risk. You, your friends. It's like I'm a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off. How can any of that be of the good? Wherever I go, evil just seems to follow. It's like I've got this magnet on me that pulls me into the most horrible thing you can think of and unleashes it all on everybody."

"You need good to combat evil, pet. It's in the history books," Spike corroborated. "It's also how wars are won."

"Is...that what we're in the middle of?" she questioned tentatively. "A war?"

"Well, not in the most accurate sense of the word, mind you. But something's definitely on its way. Giles thinks so, too. Made damn sure to warn me about it during my last visit. Way I see it, it's been here all along, waiting for its moment."

"Waiting for me, you mean."

"Whatever it is, you won't be doing it alone. 'Sides, this world owes me a decent fight or two. Our baddie just needs to show himself. Chickened out in the woods, he did, but I wouldn't throw in the towel just yet on account of a repeat performance."

"How do we know he isn't an amateur? I mean, telephone calls and a little hocus pocus? Why doesn't he go all out like he did with my mom or the woman in the hotel? What's holding him back?"

"Hart wasn't killed overnight, pet. I think he had his fun with her for a bit first. Got her right where he needed her. Must've had a ball breakin' her in, too."

"I don't want that to be me, Spike."

"It won't. A slayer is a lot more resilient than the books would have you believe. While it's true she's just putting off the inevitable, the ties she's got to the world anchor her here. Friends, family, it's just a part of what makes her last and endure what comes her way. It's who she is- who _you'll_ be."

"You respect what they do, don't you?" She angled herself in the seat so she was facing him again, an honest admiration visible in her eyes. "What they stand for? More than your typical vampire, at any rate."

"Didn't always," he refuted. "But a soul changes everything. Wasn't exactly like the others without one, either, so I'd wager that makes me unique."

"You really like to go around tooting your own horn, don't you?"

"I got a grin, didn't I?"

"Maybe, but you-"

"Buffy."

She almost didn't hear him. They'd entered through a lengthy paved driveway that led to a quaint little beige colored house with maroon shutters, a beautiful array of shrubs and flowers framing the front yard, a set of potted plants hanging near a window. An old wagon was perched up against the garage, and a small blue car was parked about a few feet away, a tiny dent carved into the driver's side. It all appeared perfectly normal at first glance, if not for the front door having been completely knocked straight off its hinges, just barely hanging onto a frame with cracked white trim. "Is this your friend's place?"

"It is." He shifted into his game face without warning, half expecting her to shrink back with absolute horror scrawled across her countenance, mindful of the discontent that crept up into his veins. She surprised him by braving it and meeting his amber eyes head on, the green in hers full of defiance. The makings of a true slayer, if there ever was one. It very nearly humbled him. "Stay here."

"Spike-"

"I mean it, Buffy. Don't move 'til I come get you." Reaching over, he pried open the glove compartment and retrieved his weapon.

"But can't I-"

"Lock the doors and stay put. You even think about-"

"Okay," she breathed, quickly nodding, her fingers grasping the sleeve of his coat rather fleetingly before she sharply released it. "Okay."

As helpless as she felt, she could only curl up in her seat and rock herself back and forth, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she began to wait.


	7. Chapter 7: Against the Grain

Chapter Seven: Against the Grain

3:12 PM

Spike went in low, the predatory gleam in his eyes sweeping the foyer with meditated precision, his lean frame advancing into the tiny alcove of a kitchen to his right. His enhanced sense of smell detected nothing out of the ordinary beyond the obvious signs of telltale destruction, most of which included an array of pots and pans strewn about the floor with several other cooking utensils and pieces of silverware. The warm metallic stench of blood was clearly ripe in the air, but it wasn't coming from the space he currently occupied, nor was he detecting any immediate threats or the overpowering scent of recent death. Lifting up his coat, he holstered his weapon into the back of his jeans, and trailed through the expanse of living area until he'd reached the banister near the stairwell.

Taking the stairs two at a time, the vampire headed towards the bathroom, where a single sliver of light was peeking out from beneath a closed door, the faint sound of tense, yet labored breaths echoing loudly in his ears. Spike approached it with slow deliberate steps, his boots falling tacitly across the sky blue carpet in the hallway, his left hand reaching for his identification card as his demonic mask quickly shed itself to reveal his human visage. Sliding the card through the slot, he used his override code and broke the seal, gaining entrance to what was behind it. The slender woman that sat huddled on the floor clutching her injured arm glanced up at him with fear fixed in her brown eyes, her stance visibly relaxing when her gaze melted into relief and signs of recognition. "William."

He carefully knelt down beside her, his fingertips grazing her open wound as the overwhelming aroma of blood assaulted him. "You all right, Calendar?"

"Yeah, I just..."

"Mind telling me whose handiwork this is?"

"He's already long gone," Jenny insisted, as she tried to pick herself up, her frustration growing all the more prevalent when she didn't possess the required strength and sank to her knees again, numbly shaking her head.

Spike cradled her gently in his arms as he helped push her to her feet, allowing her to lean into his chest as he guided her to the edge of the tub, easing her onto the white porcelain before prying open her medicine cabinet and searching for a first aid kit. "I gathered that, love, but I still need a name."

She ran a shaky red stained hand over her shoulder-length dark hair, watching as he typed in the access code for the miniscule box he carried over to her. "Rack."

"_Rack_?" He shut his eyes, lightly gritting his teeth in a gesture that was quickly becoming a habit for him. "Bloody buggering hell. Bastard's supposed to be locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Should've been stripped of all his powers, too. Warlock and all..."

"Must've found a loophole somewhere," she guessed, wincing. "He said he was here to warn me. His definition of that obviously differed from mine, though, because it was actually more along the lines of _kill_ me and don't leave behind a body."

"Right, but he only deals with junkies," Spike pointed out. "Always has. Used to give 'em a hocus pocus fix. You're hardly what I'd call a junkie, Calendar. Known you long enough to see the how and why of what you do, and it's about as far as you can get from it." He began to clean the laceration for her, his thoughts drifting back to Buffy and the way in which he'd tended to her wrists at the diner, realizing with some satisfaction that they must have healed a lot sooner than both of them had expected. Which could only mean her slayer abilities were progressing even further. "It must've taken one hell of a counter-spell to keep the wanker at bay."

"I was careless," she murmured. "The signs were all there and I ignored them. There've been portents for days."

"Oh, piffle," Spike concluded, rolling his eyes. "Portents be damned, you couldn't have done anything to stop this."

"Yeah, and I wish I could believe that. But they don't lie, William. They're just words, but they don't lie. Not this time."

"He didn't touch the girl," he reasoned, not quite hearing her, "but still went to great lengths to free an old enemy. That says something, doesn't it? In point of fact, a whole _lot_ of something. Odds are he needed his mate wreaking a bit of havoc first. Wanted to send a message 'cuz he already knows."

"Knows what?" she responded. "What girl, William? What's going on?"

"My twenty-four hour furlough," he answered, his mind already sorting out and categorizing the details. A twenty-four hour furlough who was still, at this very moment, huddled in his car, waiting for some kind of signal on his behalf. "He contacted me earlier today. Told me he'd find you and put you away. Trouble is, he knew all along. The sodding poof was onto me before I even took the case. He wanted me involved- was downright countin' on it, hedging his bets. Harris actually spotted that little discrepancy after I let him listen to the calls, but I just dismissed it. Figured the thoughts in his noggin were going a bit wonky."

"I don't think that- case?"

"Yeah. Caught myself a new case. Jennifer Hart. The bird was murdered last night in some second-rate hotel room in the middle of bloody nowhere. Turns out she wasn't just an anniversary present and a prominent affiliation to her husband's firm." Spike applied a pad of gauze to the cut and secured it with a piece of tape, pulling a medicated wipe from a thin stack of plastic wrapping as he worked on removing the blood from her hands. "I can't put this on the books, Jenny. Way it stands, you're probably not even safe here anymore. I'll put in a call to Rupert, have him come get you. I want you to stay at his place for awhile."

"What was she?"

He raised a dark brow, his blue eyes wrought with confusion. "Not sure I understand what you're gettin' at, love, so I'm afraid you're gonna have to be a tad bit more specific."

"The Hart woman," Jenny clarified. "What else was she besides being a lawyer's life? Was she into anything? You seem to be implying there's more to the story here, so..."

He shrugged. "Normal girl, far as I can tell. But I just wasn't seeing past it. The glitz and glamour and all the...panache. If I had, I might've been able to do something about this a mite sooner. Might've been able to prevent Rack from breakin' in and tryin' to hurt you, too. It didn't occur to me 'til now that the cat wasn't exactly in the bag. Evil likes a confrontation. It won't settle for any less."

"It's not your fault, William."

"Yeah, it is. Hate to admit it, but that's where we part ways," he asserted. "It's not you, it's me. The answer has always been in the names and not your blooming portents."

"What, like an anagram?"

"No. Jennifer and Jenny. Jennifer Hart, Jenny Calendar. Jenny's just your nickname, of course, but it's all the same- at least to him. Clever, too. It was seven years to the day that Buffy was wrongly convicted of killing Joyce Summers when Harris and I found Hart all sprawled out on that bed and drained of blood. Buffy's the main attraction, his sole investment, but he went out of his way to make sure I'd join the fight- make a real chore out of it. He had to get me to care so he could get to her. Couldn't do it himself. Not yet, anyway. Sure had fun taunting me with giving it all up, though, 'cuz he knew I wouldn't. Wouldn't walk away. Not for her. It's all been mind games." He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. "You realize your magic's only as good as the next attack, don't you? It'll wear thin the harder he pushes, and he's gonna push hard. I won't have you becomin' another statistic in the bleeding system. Not after what they did to her."

"Then that means he also knows what you are."

"Looks like," he acknowledged. "Wants to banish me to a world filled with eternal torment and such. Strip me of seeing daylight again."

"The ring'll hold," she assured him. "If it doesn't, I've got a spare handy. After all, it's just like a computer, isn't it? Always have a backup?"

"I taught you well," he sided, smiling.

"Hate to burst your bubble there, Cyrano, but that's just the basics of technology talking. Of which I happen to be an expert."

"Good, 'cuz your work's not done yet." The smile covering his handsome face transpired into more of a slight smirk. "Got someone outside that needs your help, too. Lot more than I ever have."

"Okay, why do I get the feeling this is going to require a little more research than I'm used to?"

"Depends on what you know about slayers," he finished.

"That...that girl- the _same_ girl that's a twenty-four hour furlough is also a vampire slayer?" she demanded. "Oh, get out. I swear, if you're messing with me, I-"

"Don't see what's so hard to believe. It's not like they went the way of the dinosaurs or anything. Then again, I s'pose it isn't every day you hear Techo-Pagan finding its way into a sentence either- what with imminent arrest and the ban in full effect. She's got accelerated healing abilities and her death has been seven years in the making. It's a tad vague at the moment, but call it a hunch."

"You feel it, don't you?" She allowed him to assist her in getting to her feet, holding tightly to him for support as he guided her out of the bathroom and down the hall, descending the stairs at a snail's pace in the continuous struggle to regain her proper composure. "Look, say you're right, and she is one. It's not like she'd have much to do. The vampire population is considerably smaller than it's been in the past and those that favor the craft are already locked up for life. Not the kind of motivation a slayer in training needs if she's hoping to bag a few of the bad guys her first time out."

"Just one bad guy," he informed her. "With yours truly standing in as Watcher."

"You've gotta be kidding me."

"No, and just 'cuz you've managed to dodge that ban, doesn't mean you're not above workin' a bit of mojo on that arm- or know someone who can. Doubt you'd fancy round two with a warlock anyhow. Nasty buggers, they are. Never play with a fair deck."

"Well this one doesn't. I'd be surprised if he doesn't find a corner and start nursing his thumb, though. I kind of did a real number on him."

"I'm sure you did, pet. I'm sure you did."

"Really? Because you don't sound too convinced."

"Care to meet the girl in question now?" he proposed, abruptly changing the subject. "Or do we settle this score with an arm wrestle? Truth be told I'm bloody tired of it, and you've only got one good one."

Jenny laughed, lightly giving his cheek a pat. "Bring her in. I'll go and see what I have in the way of snacks."

"Could do with a pint of blood or two myself. You still keep some in the fridge?"

"Does our mutual spectacled friend still archive like the old fuddy duddy he is?" she countered jokingly.

"That would be a resounding yes, and I think it would be in all of our best interests if someone here would care to explain to me why this poor girl was sitting alone in the car while the two of you were inside doing God knows what."

Rupert Giles stood in the front entryway of the ransacked house with an arm wrapped securely around Buffy's shoulders, his countenance tainted with a meager frown, as he circumspectly urged her through the debris littering the unkempt doorway. She awkwardly stepped over into the compact kitchen, sidestepping the disorder on the cluttered floor before coming to settle into a little nook that passed for a miniscule booth and a table composed of marble. Her hands shook somewhat as she tried to adjust herself to the shock of the present situation, eventually pulling them out of range to conceal in her lap.

Spike's heart broke for her all over again, but he reminded himself that he had to maintain some kind of focus if he was going to smooth out the wrinkles of what came next. "Was just going out to fetch her, Rupes. Don't go gettin' too big for your britches. Had to make sure your girl was holding her own first. Had a bloody close call with Rack."

"She is not my- Rack?" he demanded. "The warlock? He was charged over a decade ago for his crimes. What on earth would he be doing over here?"

"I think the more important question is, what are _you_ doing here?" Jenny snapped, as she used her unaffected arm to retrieve a navy colored coffee mug on the shelf above the stove. "I haven't seen you in months and suddenly you just decide to take it upon yourself to break into my home? You lost that privilege a long time ago, Rupert."

"To be fair, the door was more than just a tad ajar, and I didn't feel it warranted your permission. Xander called me. He informed me of the events at the cemetery and went a bit more into depth concerning the, uh, Hart murder. He unknowingly confirmed your whereabouts when he mentioned a Techno-Pagan was involved. When I was finally able to piece two and two together, I feared I may have already been too late. Had I been aware that it was as simple as a name, I would have gotten here a great deal sooner."

"Yeah, figured that part out way before you did," Spike confirmed. "But don't worry, old man. No one's dead and you very nearly succeeded in saving the day today. If I find one of those little gold stars at my desk next time I'm there, I'll be sure and pass one on."

"This is serious, William!"

"Oh, don't tempt me, Rupert. I've been on this from the start. I know exactly what I'm-"

"Tempt you?" he echoed. "I ought to take you over my knee and reprimand you like the spoiled, selfish overgrown boy you are. Over a hundred years on this plane, and you've still learned absolutely nothing as to what your responsibilities entail."

"Buffy knows what I am, you nit, and so does our killer. Although, if she didn't, that hundred years bit would have done it. Seems you're not as subtle as you used to be, gramps. And if anything, it's _you_ who hasn't held up your end of the bargain."

Giles' features immediately softened as something appeared to dawn on him, his eyes reflecting just the barest hint of regret before he tilted his head toward what remained of the front door. "I'd prefer to speak with you privately regarding this matter. That is, if you don't mind getting a little fresh air while we do it."

"Let me get you a cup of tea, Buffy."

She looked up at Jenny, her tense expression swiftly warming. "That'd be great. I- thank you."

"Just let them fight it out," she persisted. "Lately it's the only thing they're good at."

Spike allowed a fraction of a smile to grace his lips. "Hope you're not tryin' to sully my name, Calendar."

"Me?" the brunette balked. "Never. I'm just trying to pull Buffy out of the line of fire before one of you explodes from the tension."

He chuckled in spite of it, walking with Giles until both of them were beyond the confines of the house, the late afternoon sunshine casting its glow over the grass at their feet. The only noise in the general vicinity was the unremitting low rumble the vehicles were releasing as they passed by in a rapid blur. Spike pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket, and lit one as he brought it to his lips, gratefully inhaling and savoring the flavor. "Doubt she would've let me indulge in there, anyway." He tossed a glare his mentor's way, his blues sizing him up as he waited. "So, what, pray tell, couldn't wait 'til I dropped in on you and that addle-brained secretary of yours again?"

"I was certain you'd already reached a verdict on that."

"Well, I don't know about a verdict, but I've got myself another theory."

"The mic is yours."

Spike took another slow drag from his cigarette. "I was just thinkin' about how easily Rack was granted his freedom."

"His freedom, is it?" Giles reiterated. "That's your breakthrough theory?"

"I mean, here you've got a warlock whose prime specialty was spreading chaos across the planet," he went on, "and they put him away all cozy like for eternity and lock away the sodding key. Our...suspect, as we'll call him, gives Rack a pass with no more than a flick of his wrist and he miraculously finds his way to your former honey's humble abode. She bears the name of the woman who was just offed after dressin' up nice and pretty for her side dish in a bad part of town. If all he wanted was Buffy, he could have easily gotten to her. It wasn't beyond the scope of his talent for magic. Do another spell and free her, too. Except he didn't, did he? Something was standing in his way. Someone."

"A rather fascinating theory, really."

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?"

"Quite," Giles agreed.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Spike prodded. "You're the one who's been lookin' out for her after all this time."

"I'd assumed it was fairly obvious by now."

"Borrowed magicks?"

"Yes, the, um, coven has done a wonderful job in assisting me with that," he confessed softly. "Couldn't have done it without the added power. They've gone into seclusion since you had her released into your temporary custody, though I've reason to believe I could reach them again should the occasion arise. They've been most helpful, doing more than their fair share to ensure her safety. It's all I ever asked for. After her mother, it...felt necessary to keep tabs on her."

"You were pretty adamant about gettin' me off the case," the vampire admitted, as he threw his cigarette to the ground, thoroughly snuffing out its spark. "Didn't need me muckin' up your plans."

"You refused to heed my judgment, William. I only wanted what was best for her."

"You don't _know_ her, Rupert. What she's been through, what those...what they subjected her to in there."

"I bloody well do," he argued. "More than you're probably aware of at the moment, but there was simply nothing I could do. I wonder now if it would have aroused too much suspicion and made things worse for her if I had been able to intervene."

"You were seeing her mum, weren't you?"

"Wasn't much I could get past you," Giles whispered. "Not that Buffy knew, of course. Joyce came into the library one morning in search of some information regarding a building she'd hoped to purchase. She needed to know its history, as she wished to set up shop there in the form of an art gallery. It was well before I'd started seeing Jenny."

"You weren't listed as havin' attended her funeral."

"No, I wouldn't have been. There would have been too many questions. More than I felt comfortable answering. I loved her, though. I truly did. She was a lovely lady."

"Her daughter's a slayer."

"Ah, yes. Well that...it explains a lot then, doesn't it? It would be logical to assume your perpetrator had gotten wind of this knowledge a great deal in advance then, as he must've bested the last one."

Spike put a hand upon the record keeper's shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze, his line of vision drifting to the cars that still whizzed by them. "I'm sorry, Rupes. I really am. If I'd-"

"You couldn't, William. No way you possibly could've. I promised myself it was to stay that way, too. But when I learned it..._he_ may be back, my secrets seemed so terribly irrelevant. We've made a point of trusting each other in the past, so I'm trusting you to tell her when the time is right."

"You're already more of a father to her than her real one, at any rate. I'd like to get my hands on that son of a bitch and knock some clear sense into him. Show him what he's been missin' out on. She's a good girl."

"You're in love with her, aren't you?"

It was so direct in cutting right to the chase of it that Spike very nearly winced, his eyes betraying him before the rest of his face could, the depth of his affections crossing a boundary both of them knew wasn't in any way natural- let alone widely accepted. It was something he hadn't quite put a label on until it was so bluntly served to him on a bleeding silver platter, forcing him to confront the dire implications of it head on, knowing some things were doomed well before they even began. "I feel something for her."

"Yes, well, unfortunately that isn't for you to decide. You mustn't overstep your- what you want…it can never be, William. You must see that, or it will be too late to come back from it. You will, essentially, exist for nothing more than the sole pleasure of her company."

"S'pose you're gonna tell me I've got no chance of a normal life with her, either, and that's true. It's bloody well true. But she's there, and she's- in a matter of hours, I've gone from hardly putting faith in anything or anyone, to putting it all in this girl. She makes me want to believe there's something worth aspiring to. A reason to continue a life that's already outlived me. It's not love," he considered. "Not yet."

"And what will you do when she's old and gray and despising you for the life you were unable to provide her? You can't give her children, and you won't age. Not a bit. Think of how much you'd be denying her with what she needs most. After all she's been through, and what she'll likely go through, you owe her that much."

"I'm gonna train her, Rupert."

His mentor merely shook his head at the ridiculous admission. "If you're hoping for my blessing, it's something you won't get. After everything we've talked about, everything we've- this will only bring you closer to her. Closer than you should be, considering the circumstances."

"Right then. But what better way to fight evil than to learn from it? Just 'cuz I've got me a soul now doesn't mean I've forgotten what it's like to be without one."

"I'd feel more at ease with this if you started sprouting poetry off the top of your head again. At least then I'd have it on good authority that you wouldn't be acting on it. This is new for you, and for her. You've already bedded that dreadful woman in my office, but even then I knew it was utterly frivolous. A fling, if you will- as were those that came before her. You weren't putting any energy into these...relationships, and it showed. You never let them in."

"Buffy's different."

"Oh, clearly. I don't think I've ever seen you so devoted to a case before, or since."

"I want Calendar to stay with you. Just 'til we've got a handle on this and it blows over."

Giles only sighed. "My, my, and we're just full of fun surprises, aren't we?"

"You almost lost her today, Rupes. I know you've had your differences and spats and whatever the hell else they are, but right now the bird needs you. Put in a request to this coven of yours to bring back the shield for Buffy, too. Might save your better half a bit of searchin' in the long run if those friends of yours are able to confirm the slayer bit."

"Anything else?" he asked dryly.

"Could use some more smokes and a nice stiff drink, but as it stands, it looks like your ex is gonna tide me over with some pig's blood. Should dull the hunger just enough so I don't feel the need to rip out the lungs of some poor defenseless sod in the park. Not that I don't appreciate the hospitality."

"That wasn't very funny. You notice I don't laugh."

"Look, while I may not respect the lot of your opinions, the bottom line is, I don't want this girl to come between us. We've dealt with bigger and far more dangerous than this. She's twenty-four, Rupert. She's a far cry from the child she once was. You can thank bloody prison for that."

"Yes, of course. An unfortunate outcome of her prolonged stay there. It still doesn't mean I want her fawning all over you when you she deserves a great deal better."

"That's not your decision to make."

"I realize that, too. All I ask is that you think about what you are doing."

"If anything's for certain at this point, it's that I don't want to send her back there. I've got Harris on it, and with any luck, the bloke will come through for me."

"And if he doesn't?" Giles proclaimed. "You've got a lot riding on this. Are you prepared to accept and obey the rule book for once in your life if you have to send her back tomorrow?"

"You can't honestly expect me to answer that when you know bleeding well what it'd be."

"There was legal jurisdiction present at the Hart crime scene, was there not? This doesn't venture into precisely the same territory, but the punishment is far too severe for you to even consider risking it. You'd both be fugitives. Perhaps you could argue that your reputation speaks for itself, but at what cost?"

"Rape is plenty cost to me, Rupert. What's more, she's not obligated to justify herself to you. If it were up to me, I'd have twisted their heads clean off and had their guts for garters. Make a damn fine weekend of it. God help me, I would've thoroughly enjoyed hearing their bones crack as I ripped 'em apart, piece by bloody piece. But that's not who I am anymore, and haven't been for some time. It's wrong, I know it. Doesn't mean I can get myself to stop thinkin' about it."

"If this chappie is aware of these inclinations, he may try and use them against you. I'd bet a few quid he already has."

"You don't say. But lately he's just been all talk. He's capable of a lot more than what I saw in the woods earlier, but he's not really applyin' himself to the craft. Not like he knows he should be."

"I highly doubt he went out of his way to learn what he did if his only goal was to eliminate the slayer line, William. It wouldn't have been worth it to jump through all of those hoops."

"Yeah, well I used to find causing pain very inspirational," he commented, shrugging. "Who's to say killing off all these slayers hasn't tickled his fancy and given him a genuine taste for it?"

"Yes, but it's rather unlikely he'd be doing this without some kind of validity behind it. If he simply wanted the recognition, there are other methods and ways he could have used to go about it. Ways that make use of the media, or significantly worse. He'd get the word out himself and put his work on display for all to see. Your Hart victim may have been making use of that, but she was hardly discovered in a public venue."

"Hey!" Jenny yelled, peeking around the shattered door frame, an emphatically perplexed look falling over her features. "Are you two in the middle of some rare male bonding ritual out there, or the beginning stages of a novel? Knock it off and get in here already. I've got leftover tea and warm blood. Take your pick."

"Tea, thank you," Giles called back, inappreciably grimacing at the mention of blood.

"Bit of hemoglobin for me," Spike advocated proudly, unable to resist taking pleasure in the other man's discomfort. "We done here?"

"For now."

"Bollocks." He contemplated reaching for another cigarette, absentmindedly flicking his lighter in a series of repetitious movements, trying in vain to combat the rehabilitated frustration that waged war inside him. "Look, I'll do right by her, Rupert, I swear. She's in good hands. You ever feel like revealin' yourself as daddy benefactor, that'd be fine, too. Probably take a real load off. You always were such a bleeding heart."

"Bleeding heart or not, I worry about her. She's the one remaining link to preserving her mother's memory. She's an awfully bright girl, William. Too bright at times, as she may not be able to differentiate between right and wrong. Especially not when putting the last seven years of her life into perspective. She's had it hard. Surely you're able to grasp that."

"All right, from this point forward, I hereby promise not to ravage her deliciously in her sleep. Satisfied?"

"Must you be so crass?"

"Crass or not, it's the truth. Granted, she gave me a run for my money on the way over here, but it was nothing she didn't provoke all by her lonesome. Minx loves to test me and gauge my reaction. She knows she can get away with it, too."

"Yes, well, all...flirting aside, it's plainly obvious you admire her bravery."

"I do. It gives me hope with this whole slayer endeavor. I might just be the best opponent for her, too. I give as good as I get. I've long since mastered the amount of discipline it takes, and she could afford to learn a thing or two about that as well."

"I wouldn't recommend being overly aggressive with her. You don't want to scare her away."

"I got this, Rupert." They re-entered the house, watching as Jenny and Buffy broke their conversation at the table, awarding each of them with moderately inquisitive expressions as they awaited the juicy gossip commentary. Spike merely sported a lazy grin as he picked up the white mug filled with red liquid, his blues shining, but thoroughly closed off. "Ladies first."

"All the signs would indicate she's looking like a pretty good candidate for our new Chosen One," Jenny sufficed. "So far, anyway. I save everything that makes its way to me, and I did a quick scan through my more recent archives. It turns out one of my online groups had a code red alert making the rounds not too long ago about a missing girl. A girl that was apparently of great importance to her people. It doesn't actually say the word slayer in a large, glaring font, but chances are, she probably was. I'm not exactly an expert, so I might be out of my depth. But some of the older historic documentation I've collected over the years on slayers and their origins might prove useful, too. I've got your copies ready, so you're free to take a peek and see for yourself. All things considered, she _appears_ to be legit." She picked up a set of tiny discs in a green plastic holder, dutifully inserting them into his waiting grasp. "On the other hand, though, if you and Rupert maybe want to have it out between the two of you once and for all before we leave, I'm totally game. You know, see who's got the bigger joystick and everything?"

"I'll pretend I simply didn't hear that," Giles nervously rebutted. "As you Americans say, it's not the size that matters, but, um, shall we say...how you use it."

"Yep, still a fuddy duddy."

"You're honestly merciless."

"A tragic flaw the female population contends with on a daily basis. Get used to it."

"Of that I've not a single shred of doubt, which makes it perfectly self-explanatory as to why we stopped dating in the first place."

"Right, so you've both got things you need to work on," Spike incited, markedly exasperated. "Bully for you. Now that we've established the gist of it, we need to get out of here. As in, _now_. I'm not saying Rack will come back armed to the teeth with his cronies, but we don't need to take that chance. Rupes, grab Calendar's bags. Buffy and I will be at my apartment. Don't forget to get in touch with the coven on the ride over to yours. Slayer, you're with me."

"It...was nice meeting you," Buffy managed, her green orbs settling over Jenny and then Giles, her voice surprisingly timid.

Before she could exit, Giles went and captured her hand gingerly in his, doing what he could to brush away the inevitable sense of familiarity that coursed through him when he gazed into her eyes, a picture of her late mother flashing into his. There wasn't a day that went by since her death that Joyce didn't haunt him, the reality of what they were forever embedded in his consciousness, missing the utter warmth and sincerity she'd bestowed upon him. "Please take care, Buffy, and mind William. If there's anyone who knows the workings of the inner slayer, it would be him."

"That your genius and off-putting way of telling me you're finally agreeing with me, old man?"

Giles looked up at him, his eyes betraying nothing of the sorrow he'd very nearly succumbed to crumbling beneath. "It's a start."


	8. Chapter 8: Skeletons in the Closet

Chapter Eight: Skeletons in the Closet

_Pratt Residence_

5:43 PM

Spike promptly slid his miniscule identification card through the slot located to the left of the wide apartment door, his hand enveloping the small of Buffy's back as he dutifully guided her inside, allowing his thumb to graze a small rectangular touchpad that bathed the lights in the foyer and kitchen in a soothing bright yellow glow. He casually dropped the duffel bag he'd been holding in his other hand at his feet, retiring it to the hardwood floor while he summarily re-activated the lock behind him. The vampire watched his guest's emerald eyes widen ever so slightly while she took in the change of scenery, her gaze struggling to adapt to her new surroundings, seemingly taken aback by the presentation of the spacious living quarters in front of her. He grinned and retrieved the plastic green holder Jenny had given him from the depths of his coat pocket, casually tossing it atop the kitchen counter, as he decided how to try and rectify the speechless state she'd currently found herself in. "Welcome to Casa de Spike, pet. Plenty of fresh towels in the bathroom and food in the fridge. Mind the containers of blood, but feel free to help yourself to anything else. Got leftover Chinese if you're interested."

"How about cereal?" she asked rather meekly, her gaze seemingly trying to capture every last detail of the setup around her before she turned back to look at him again, a tiny smile falling over her features.

"No, but if you're craving another late breakfast, I could whip you up some eggs and toast right quick. Might settle your stomach some, at any rate. Your heart's practically going a mile a minute."

Her eyebrows shot up to her forehead with what appeared to be genuine disbelief. "You can hear that?"

"Creature of the night," he reminded her, gesturing to himself briefly as he nodded.

"Stupid question," she corrected herself, her smile transforming into a somewhat shaky laugh.

"It's not. But if we're gonna try and make the best of sharing this place for a bit, I won't have you gettin' all down on yourself about all that rot. I've never gone to great lengths to showcase what I am, Buffy. Don't go around putting it on display like some of the wankers I've been acquainted with in the past." Spike pried open the refrigerator door and grabbed a bottle of beer from the top shelf, twisting off the cap with very little effort at all. "Angelus, on the other hand, loved a show. He'd make a real party out of it. The poofter always welcomed each and every bit of attention tossed his way and thrived on it. Bleeding pathetic. Must be why Dru found him so annoyingly irresistible, although all things considered, he also lacked flair."

"What happened to him?"

He absentmindedly professed a noncommittal shrug as he placed the bottle to his lips, gratefully taking a welcoming sip. "Hell if I know. Don't much care, either. Two of 'em fancied each other and left me in the dust. May not have been in the tabloids, but I know she was shagging his brains out tenfold behind my back."

"Spike-"

"And before you hop on the inevitable train of never ending pity, I'm not lookin' for any. Not from you, not from anybody. It is what it is, Slayer, and I won't have you thinkin' otherwise. Got me?"

"Yeah, but you have a soul, right? I mean that pretty much speaks for itself."

"S'pose it does," he managed, conceding.

"That witch you mentioned before," she started. "The one that helped you get it?"

"What about her, love?"

"Was it Jenny?"

"It wasn't. She might be good with the occasional spell here or there, but she's hardly mastered the subject of immortality. She's as human as you are."

"I liked her," Buffy murmured. "She was nice."

"Yeah, well, Rupert doesn't exactly share the sentiment, so you'll have to forgive him if he was a bit abrupt back there. Honestly never expected him to be that much in the bloody loop. Between the two of 'em, though, they're quite a pair."

"A pair who aren't exactly making with the togetherness," she pointed out.

"Give it time," he offered, as he set his empty bottle down and reached for her duffel again, urging her to follow him as he led her into the back bedroom, taking extra care to enter the code that corresponded to the electronic blinds on his way in, shrouding the room in shadow. "They'll respond to touch, too," he explained. "If you need to part 'em for whatever reason, they'll go right back to the way you found 'em. Handy little invention I wish I thought of much sooner when the lot of us wore bad hair and funny outfits."

"The eighties?" she tried.

"Good guess." He tapped the short and slender lamp that resided near his bed, and saw it come to life. "If you want, I can get your meal ready while you hop in the shower and-"

"Kind of already did that back at the precinct," she added. "Remember? Crazy little adventure in the woods where I was almost sucked into the ground and buried alive?"

"Not likely to have that one leavin' my conscience anytime soon, pet."

"That said, if it's not too much trouble, I sure wouldn't say no to a bath."

Spike desperately willed his brain to stay on topic and formulate a sufficient enough response, even as another part of his body was already on the verge of betraying him and responding to her request in a manner that would hardly be considered professional. It took everything he had to hold himself in check. "Right then. A bath it is."

"I shouldn't be more than ten minutes," Buffy alleged. "Just give me a knock when dinner's ready."

"Try not to use all the hot water," he warned. "Still need to get in there myself. Bloody filthy."

"Yeah, I can see that," she quipped.

"Oh, watch it, missy. Anymore out of you, and you'll be-" The sound of his micro cell had him turning away, holding a finger out to rapidly silence her as he gave it the command to identify the caller. It was an additional feature he hadn't done nearly enough with in all the time he'd had the gadget in his possession, but seeing as he didn't fancy having a chat with their resident magical murderer anytime soon, it hadn't taken him long to make good use of it. When a familiar name was recited back to him and didn't careen into a roadblock concerning location, he went on to breathe an unneeded sigh of relief. "Have to take this, love. Go on and do what you've gotta do, okay?"

"Great, thanks."

He smiled as he headed away from her, permitting access and allowing the call to pass through. "Harris. Hope for your sake that you've got something good for me."

"Boy do I ever," the other man retorted, his voice dripping thick with sarcasm.

"Should pay you back good and proper for gettin' Giles after me. Unfortunately revenge doesn't really warrant a climb to the top of my list at the moment. Way I see it, it's probably your lucky day."

"Not really," Xander uttered. "See, funny thing about women, Pratt. They're always on to you when you do something that's completely out of the ordinary. So much so that they tell you to your face that they can see right through you and proceed to whittle away at you until you're nothing."

"You're talking about Anya."

"The one and only," he confirmed. "The thing of it is, I actually didn't have any trouble convincing her to accept my invitation. She practically jumped on it and had this look in her eyes like she wanted to devour me or something. I would've snapped a pic to commemorate the occasion, but I didn't wanna frighten you. Anyway, I went and picked her up a bit later at her place, thinking this was gonna be a lot easier than I thought. We get to the restaurant and I do my best to woo her with trivial conversation and all that nonsense, and before I know it...bam!"

"The bird shot you?" Spike questioned, confused.

"No, she saw past my witty repartee and spent the remainder of our time there making mincemeat out of me. I think I was pie by the time it was over, or at least came close to being her first casualty of what started out as a pretty decent evening. That's the first and the last time I ever take one for the team, and you can put it down in print. Show me where to sign and we'll forget this ever came to pass."

"Yeah, and while that's all mind-numbingly fascinating, you nit, I'm not really interested in a play by play."

"Then why-"

"What did the chit say?"

"In a word? Your card has been declined. You've gone and used up your freebie limit. You're supposed to return Buffy to the penitentiary by tomorrow morning- exactly twenty-four hours later from when you initially signed her out. Look, man, I tried, all right? I put myself out there for you, but she just wasn't buying it. There was nothing more I could've done. My charm only carries me so far, and that's a stretch in and of itself."

"And it's not that I don't appreciate what you've put on the line for me, but-"

"Look, slam your fist through a wall, have a few cigs, whatever. Do what you have to do to make yourself feel better. But also know that they're not exactly giving you a choice here. There's no loophole. I wish it had all gone a lot differently, but it doesn't change the fact that you can't mess with the law. You're taking this too personally, and it might just be for the greater...well, _everything_, if you stepped away and took a breather."

"I don't breathe."

"All jokes aside that really isn't gonna do anything to help plead your case."

"I've got the sodding key to breakin' that case right here, and for the record, I'm hardly joking."

"Hey, just do what you can, okay? Ask her stuff tonight. Maybe try again to see if we can get a possible on names. He doesn't seem to be one to leave a signature behind in the literal sort of way, but maybe something will still jog her memory. It could even be something our guys missed the first or second time they ran through the scene. Please, just...get some sleep, or _kip_ as you call it, and don't do anything stupid."

"Oh, you mean like take her as my hostage and go on the lam?"

"Pratt, c'mon, you're my partner."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Harris."

"I'm counting on it. And you know, it might actually be worth our while to start approaching this from a whole different angle. Toss it back and forth some more to see what else emerges. We've only been on it a little less than day, and part of that would-be concrete evidence has already disappeared. Not the kind of incentive that's made to inspire."

"Don't let the bugs bite you in your beddy bye."

"Over and out," Xander muttered. "And the same goes for you, buddy."

Spike removed the device from his ear and set it on the countertop, reaching into the drawer behind him to retrieve the small hammer he kept in storage for repairs. The sound of water flowing into the tub silenced his actions, as he took the appliance and delivered a single, solitary blow, thoroughly smashing the micro cell into tiny shards that scattered clear across the surface. He grabbed the dustpan and broom propped up against the coat rack in the front entryway, and quickly began scooping up the debris, dumping the remains in his garbage disposal. If Buffy heard him, she didn't show any sign of it, and he passed by the bathroom on the way to a compact closet in the hallway, digging out an ornately carved oak jewelry box from beneath a pile of old yellow newspapers.

The only one who knew the number to the micro cell that lay inside was Giles, and his mentor already had it on good authority that it always served as a backup in lieu of emergencies. As it was, he still needed to contact Rupes regarding the coven's use of the shield on Buffy, and wondered if they'd be able to whip up an added bonus to protect her from more than just the dark arts. But first, she'd have to learn to fight, and to do that, they were going to need weapons. Preferably a trunk full of them if he was going to show her everything that a slayer should- at least by the standards of the Council, be educated in. It wasn't anything a vampire normally kept stocked to the brim in his living quarters, and for reasons chronicling the fairly obvious variety. But thankfully he had a mate within the vicinity who'd be able to provide him with plenty.

He swiftly inserted the backup mechanism into his ear and left the box where he'd found it, closing the closet and returning to the kitchen, where he busied himself with removing the twist tie off a new loaf of wheat bread. After throwing two pieces inside the toaster, he moved to take the half dozen carton of eggs from the refrigerator, helping himself to another bottle of beer while he was it. It was a much more efficient way of coping than shoving his fist into the wall, getting all bloodied up, and essentially giving his anger the right to consume him. Above all else, he knew Buffy wouldn't like it. She wouldn't want to see him broken, strung out and at odds with the blackness that continued crawling through his veins inside of him.

_You've got a lot riding on this. Are you prepared to accept and obey the rule book for once in your life if you have to send her back tomorrow?_

Giles' warning had been dire considering what was presently at stake, but Spike was sure that after tonight there would be no going back. Things would never be as they were before, and if he had been asked the very same thing two days ago, he never would've bothered to award it the courtesy or time of day. Not when the only other woman who had ever meant anything to him was long since dead and had been for over a hundred bloody years. His mother loved him, even if Dru never had. And while his soul may have restored in him that immense notion of regret, he wasn't about to let it interfere with saving a girl that was going to be denied her freedom twice in seven years.

He recovered a jar of strawberry jam from the cupboard to the left of the fridge, and mindful not to apply too much, began slathering a thin amount upon each square of toast, stopping to crack two eggs into a bowl with a touch of pepper and salt and a small sliver of cheese. Spike usually made a note to stir a bit of blood in with his own eggs when he prepared them, but was quite confident that Buffy would find the mere taste of the metallic substance off-putting and distasteful. It was the elixir to prolonging his life, but it remained a rather disturbing disservice to hers, and that was just one of the many contrasts that undermined the slim prospect of entertaining any kind of a future with her. Giles hadn't truly been off base with that part, either. He was almost tempted to flip a blooming coin.

"Something smells awfully good in here."

The scent of shampoo and soap assaulted his senses as Buffy exited the bathroom in a white tank top and pair of striped pajama bottoms, her feet in white socks as she padded over to the kitchen and leaned her slender frame into the back of the single chair pushed into the table. "Wow, you really don't get a lot of company, do you?"

"Never been one to advocate tea and crumpets, pet. Been alive as long as I have and you learn to avoid being too chummy with the neighbors. Mrs. Brinkman's actually a coffee addict, and she's gone to the trouble of invitin' me on more than one occasion to join her. Might have helped her plight if I actually fancied coffee."

"No, I don't imagine it would be your preferred beverage of choice," she commented, a slow smile tainting her lips.

"Was never much for the wining and dining aspect, even back in the day. Dru, on the other hand, never seemed to mind it. She had it forever locked in her cranium that the more get-togethers she went about arranging, the easier it would be to stage some glorious all-you-can-eat buffet under the guise of a masqué. She always took such pleasure in packing it to the brim with all those unsuspecting sods who were about to become our dinner. Indulged in it myself, of course, 'cuz it meant not havin' to go out to hunt. Haunts me to this day and reminds me just how effortless she made it to enjoy the kill without the consequences. But back then, we were unstoppable."

"I...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Buffy, it's all right," he insisted. "_I'm_ all right. You didn't push or anything."

"I know, I...really do. I guess I just don't like to see you so unhappy. You've already gone above and beyond the call as it is." She slid easily into the chair, her shoulders a bit hunched, as she rested her elbows upon the table. "I like your friends, I do, but I don't think they see that. I don't think they see _you_. The real you. Maybe if they did, they'd see it wasn't so much of the bad."

He strode over to where she was sitting and knelt down beside her, turning her chair toward him and gingerly taking her hands in his, his eyes holding hers with an intense, yet unreadable stare. She reluctantly broke free from his grasp to hesitantly allow her fingers the courtesy of tracing the planes of his beautiful face, all the way from his high cheekbones down to his strong jawline, her thumbs pausing to graze the fullness of his bottom lip. "I'd like you to show me again."

"Show you what?" he queried, his British inflection barely above a whisper.

"The demon inside of you."

He winced, lightly patting her knees. "I'm afraid it's not that simple, Goldilocks. We've been through this, haven't we? Granted, you may not have yelled and fled the premises when I turned on you in the car, but what you are kills my kind. Not us, and not here, but someday. Truth of it is, you're only brave enough to accept it 'cuz it's part of your vocation. Slayers aren't supposed to have a sympathetic bone in their body when it comes to the mission. They're usually all business-like with no time for much else."

"Please?" she pressed.

She felt it the instant he shifted, the skin beneath her hands becoming rough and rigid, cool blue sliding into dangerous amber. Only he wasn't. Not really. He was still Spike, and the way in which he'd bared a part of him that normally remained well concealed on a daily basis, hidden from those who dared to pry, stripped away his defenses and left him entirely vulnerable to her. The men who'd hurt her during her stay at the facility were more of a monster than the man in front of her was.

A man.

He was, she decided. She'd vehemently denied him that title back at the diner when she'd been set on fleeing once his secret was revealed, but she was wrong to assume he was as ruthless as this Angelus apparently was. Buffy felt compelled to ask him more about the mysterious, and apparently sadistic lover his sire had taken under her wing, but it was becoming all the more evident that reminiscing about either of them brought in a floodgate of retention he'd likely be immensely relieved to be without.

"Men," she grumbled playfully. "They're just so sensitive."

"Buffy..."

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" She giggled, moving in to place a light peck on the tip of his nose. As she began to pull away, she felt the sudden invasion of his lips against hers, his game face melting away to disclose his human countenance. He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck to draw her in closer, and she heard what faintly resembled a growl when he goaded her even further, allowing his tongue to do battle with hers. His other hand delicately moved in to cup her cheek, and she realized with some trepidation that this likely all meant she was completely done for. She was actually responding to his ministrations, allowing her body to become an all too willing participant in conjunction with his. In the very simplest of terms, she was slowly turning into one big puddle of impossible goo. She continued to indulge in the pure joy of everything he was giving her, and knew that if this was what she'd really been missing out on all these years being held against her will, she was vastly becoming averse to letting it go.

When he reluctantly withdrew to rest his forehead tenderly against hers, she very nearly protested, smacking him dead center of his chest while she fought to catch her breath.

He immediately rose to his feet and took a step back, the same hands that had taken refuge in her now upholding a familiar gesture of surrender. "Right, s'pose that qualifies as a mistake of monumental proportions on my behalf. Don't know what I was thinkin', love. Probably wasn't thinkin' at all. Forgive me?"

"No."

"More than I deserve, ain't it?" He gave a rather somber nod as he turned away and headed toward the plate he'd been in the process of preparing for her following Harris' call. "I'm gonna get the eggs and toast I promised you, yeah? I recalled that you'd ordered that tasty strawberry jam at the diner, and seeing as I happened to have some handy myself, went and put it on your bread. Not the same brand, so if it's not to your liking after all, I can change it and make more toast."

"You...remembered that?" she asked, clearly stunned.

"I was out of line, it was a mistake," he reiterated. "Got a tad too caught up and reacted poorly, and I didn't...beg your pardon?"

"The jam," she told him. "You remembered that I liked it."

"Well, yeah," he conceded. "Try not to read too much into it."

"Uh huh. So says the guy who just gave me the best kiss I've ever received in my life, and now he wants to be all stuffy shirts and pocket protectors. Funny, because I thought that was Giles."

"Eat your dinner, Buffy."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Pratt, sir." She mock saluted him as she accepted the fork he offered to her, using it to slice through the pile of scrambled eggs, shoveling them into her mouth at precisely the same time she bit into a piece of jam covered toast. Her eyes widening for the second time that evening, she hastily dove in for a larger helping, moaning her approval until she'd just about finished it off, dabbing daintily at her mouth with the thin paper napkin he'd provided.

"Like it, pet?"

"More than like," she objected. "It's delicious! I'm thinking they should fire whoever made the one I had earlier and hire you on instead."

"I perish the thought, as I don't believe they'd be open to keepin' a cup of fresh blood in tow with my name on it." He couldn't bring himself to tell her that her contagious spirit was about to be snuffed out all over again when the furlough had worn out its short welcome and she was expected back at the prison on the seventeenth. Eight measly days until Christmas and she'd be back to being an inmate the blokes of the establishment had exposed to every sexual position they could conjure up for her, equating her to nothing more than a toy used to promote their greed and every corrupt need. He did still have a report to write, though, and God help him, he was going to go at it with everything he had the second her pretty little head hit the pillow for a good night's rest.

He wouldn't be taking her back, but the least he could do was tell his boss why in a thousand words or less and make them count. Could be Giles wasn't the only bleeding heart.

"Maybe not," she reasoned, "but I bet I could persuade them. Either way, it's a small price to pay."

"Sometimes it's worth the price," he confirmed quietly.

"Okay, I sort of get the impression we're starting to not talk about the same thing here. 'Splainy?"

"Excuse me?"

" 'Splainy," she said again. "It means, explain now, as in right now. I don't want you holding out on me."

"Not holding out on anybody," he promised. "Just need to take care of a few things first before I turn in and catch some shut eye."

"Ah, and that entails certain uncomfortable sleeping arrangements."

"I've got the sofa, love. You, on the other hand, can go curl up in that nice warm bed and put every little worry out of that head of yours. Whatever happens tomorrow, just know that I've still got your back."

"They didn't, like, leave a message or anything about that yet?"

"Not a peep," he lied. "But you'll be the first to know when they do."

"Great, good...cool even."

"To be frank, I think the captain's just waitin' for me to file a sodding report before she gets her final say-so. Soon as I get that out to her, the sooner we can dance."

"Dance?"

"Negotiate? Drive a hard bargain?"

"Oh. Well then I guess I'll leave you to it."

"Figured you'd be beat enough for the both of us, seeing as how you survived one of the most eventful days in recent history."

"Big yes to that. And thank you," she conceded. "For making it tolerable. I don't think I've ever had so much fun evading someone who was trying to kill me."

"You're welcome, Slayer." He picked up her empty plate and placed it in the sink. "Only thing I've got for you to drink is water. No way of gettin' around that particular obstacle, but I can pour you a glass if you'd like. You can take it with you to bed."

"I'd like that," she agreed.

"And," he started, as he got a cup from one of the bottom cupboards, "you don't have to fret about the security here. In addition the locks, I had Calendar work some mojo to construct a barrier. Keeps all the nasties out. It also remains undetectable by any tool we've got at the precinct, which is fine by me. Doesn't even trigger that buggering little box they had installed after the ban. Always did leave no stone unturned on that one."

"That's why he couldn't get to you."

"You're referring to our Houdini."

"Yeah, except I don't think Houdini killed my mom." When all he could do was stare at her in response, she rolled her eyes. "_Anyway_, what I'm trying to say is that this guy tried to get in, but couldn't. He was unable to break your barrier wall. It's just...maybe he doesn't have as much magic as we think he does. He might just be getting more of it as he goes. Stocking up or something. He's probably even feeding off that Rack dude to get it. If what you said about Rack is true, he must let him."

"It's a matter for another day, though, isn't it? In the meantime, you need to get yourself some rest."

Despite the amount of griping she gave him as she eventually pulled back the covers and slipped beneath them, it didn't take her long to drift off to slumberland, leaving Spike with ample time to access the information Jenny had given him. He brought up the holographic display mode and separated each of the files according to disc, grouping them into a total of two categories. The largest one included the history of the slayer in the form of several diaries, the sketches that accompanied them having been salvaged from the 1800's, their penmanship aristocratic and faded. He imagined the Watchers back then were twice as presumptuous as they were now, and judging by the notes they'd acquired, must have thought themselves to be of equal importance to the Chosen One herself.

Slayers had originated in ancient Africa when a tribe known as the Shadow Men used magic on a poor girl being held captive that contained the heart and soul of a demon in its purest form. This was what was needed to imbue her with her the strength and speed she'd need to hold her own against the darker forces, thus making her a formidable foe in the eyes of the demonic community. The first of her kind, the original slayer, had fallen victim to a thirst for blood and had suffered from being cut off from civilization. She'd lost what had made her human. He thought back to Buffy's own confinement and what that might mean when she gained all of her powers to the fullest extent. Spike feared her captivity in prison could have a lasting effect on who she was to become if she wasn't able to grasp the fate she was meant for.

The Shadow Men, he realized, had later formed the Council and began to call themselves Watchers, taking turns at appointing themselves guardian to whichever girl had been chosen. Typically, slayers were called in their late teens and rarely their twenties, which made Buffy an obvious anomaly. There was also a mention of a woman, Kendra Young, who'd been traveling with a man named Sam Zabuto. The feeds that had been passed back and forth in confidentiality through the online group indicated a loss of contact with both no less than four days ago. Two train tickets to Los Angeles had been purchased, but had failed to be collected upon arrival. He surmised that this was the girl Jenny had told him about, which led him to believe they were one and the same. There was no confirmation that either of them had even boarded, let alone made it to the station. A gentleman who simply went by Merrick had been listed as missing within the same time frame.

Spike read a bit further before he exited the applications and placed the discs back into the holder, spending the next hour and a half writing up his report and submitting it to Anya. Grabbing a towel on his way to the bathroom, he shed his dirty clothes and washed himself free of the grime he'd incurred earlier, throwing on a pair of loose sweat pants. He padded over to the sofa, and duly dimmed the lights, reaching for the thick blanket perched on top of it. With a frustrated groan, he draped it over himself and tried to settle in the best he could. He surmised he had about six hours left before he'd have to start packing, and the wheels in his head were churning just thinking about it. He'd only managed to doze off for a minute or two, when he heard the sound of Buffy's shrill scream emanating from his room, instantly bolting upright and taking off in the direction of her cries, his bare feet thumping hard across the wood.

She was a mess of tangles when he found her, sweat pooling atop her forehead, and her arms and legs thrashing fiercely beneath the sheets. Without contemplating whether or not he'd have another black eye in the morning, Spike climbed up onto the bed and gave her shoulders a good, firm shake, attempting to rid her of whatever nightmare had snuck up on her and had begun violating her dreams. "Buffy?" When she still refused to respond, he went and shook her even harder, applying more pressure to the task, his brow frantic with worry. "Buffy, love, you've gotta snap out of it. Buffy!"

Her movements ceased and her body stiffened as she slowly opened her eyes, her focus a bit of a blur when her eyes came to rest on a rather toned bare chest, steadily drifting upward to reveal a concerned cerulean gaze. She waited until he let go before she shifted and drew herself up, her fingers running through her blonde hair before they settled over her arms and formed a loose hug. "Spike?"

"I think some of those beasties must have had a lasting impact on you," he remarked. "Was almost afraid I'd be knocked unconscious in my effort to return you to the living."

"Sorry."

"So what was it?"

"What was..."

"Pack of wolves? Bloke with a hefty chainsaw? I'd do well enough to banish those bleeding hockey masks from my memory altogether. Same goes for that God awful music, too. Don't know how those ever became classics."

"Just one," she told him.

"Love?"

"Just the one. A demon, I think. I saw him, he...I...it was like he invited himself into the dream somehow. There was nothing for awhile and then, well, _wham_. I sort of blacked out or whatever and he was there. It was like everything just went dark. It felt- it was almost like he was trying to see into my thoughts or something. And he looked like a man at first. He really did. Just your normal, every day regular Joe type of guy. The ones you usually meet on the street on your way to work, or...or consider taking home to mom. But when he got closer, it...whoever it was had horns. Big, huge ugly horns. I can't really explain it, because I didn't even...it's not possible, right? It's seriously lame and I'm overreacting. Most of the time it doesn't mean anything. It _shouldn't_ mean anything. When I was little, my mom used to tell me that dreams were made up stuff you'd be thinking about during the day before you went to sleep. She said it was just things that were always on my mind."

"I'd wager this wasn't what your mum meant," he stated matter of factly, "as it's a far cry from showin' up late for a pop quiz."

"I don't understand."

"Slayers are reputed to have had these prophetic visions that give 'em a peek into what's to come. Some of it does, some of it doesn't. It's more on the side of _does_ with you. If what was in there is any indication of what we're gonna face, we'll need a lot more than just your average witch and enhanced abilities to get through this. A lot more."


	9. Chapter 9: True Blue

Chapter Nine: True Blue

_December 17th_

_Morgue_

6:10 AM

"Okay, it's not that I'm not exuberantly happy about these morning meetings, Will, but couldn't you at least have waited until I was able to open my eyes first?" Xander Harris entered the drab and infinitely dank room with caution, noting with some relief that the metal slabs in front of him were entirely absent of bodies, their surfaces scrubbed clean and to the point of perfection. He figured it didn't really matter, though, because the evidence of Jennifer Hart's vanishing corpse would forever be ingrained in his memory like an old childhood haunt that never felt comfortable shedding the scars of its past. "Unless of course you've finally decided to come to your senses and make a man out of me, in which case I hereby renounce the prospect of becoming a potential slave to the rich aroma of much needed coffee before the break of dawn."

Willow Rosenberg merely peeked her head out of her office and glared at him, her long red hair falling over the shoulders of the fuzzy pink sweater she wore, a book of undetermined origin residing snugly in her grasp. "Get in here and activate the locks and sound mechanism," she instructed.

"Since when did you go all top secret agenty on me and where can I pick up my sidekick badge?"

"Xander, this is serious," she insisted. "Put all of your stupid man parts away and try to think with your head for once. What I'm about to tell you can't leave this building, and you have to promise me you won't go and freak out."

The detective moved to draw a tiny cross over his heart with his finger, as he tentatively did what he was told, craning his neck in an attempt to get a better look at the pages she'd been thoroughly absorbed in prior to his arrival. The language he caught a glimpse of wasn't in English, and if he had to hazard a possible guess as to where it hailed from, he was going to aim for Latin. He professed a slight grimace then- the mere thought of trying to correctly pronounce any of it essentially being lost on him. He did, however, find himself awfully curious as to why the department's medical examiner would be so intrigued with something that was likely long since out of print and had somehow survived complying with the obligations of the ban. "Last I checked, the Records Library didn't carry that volume." Truth be told, he wouldn't have considered jumping on it if it had.

"You wouldn't have found this in any library," Willow murmured. "Not even the ones that existed before they cleaned out their inventory and confiscated everything for review. This is totally man-made, as in some men got together and probably made it more than a hundred years ago. That's my guess, at least."

"Uh huh, so where on God's green earth did you find it and what's it doing _here_?"

She just shrugged. "It was waiting for me when I arrived."

He blinked. "Come again?"

"It was just there," she repeated. "It's not like I asked anybody to put it there, yet there it was. In all its anciently bound gloryness."

"Which means whoever made the special delivery has to have access to this building," he concluded. "If our Mr. Magic Man has found a way past check-in, he'd have to be messing with his little spells again."

"That's not entirely out of the question," she offered. "After the body and the disappearing thing, I...I think we should probably be on our guard more, you know? Maybe carpool home at night?"

He grinned. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

"Hey, who said anything about sleepovers?" Her face blushed the same shade of pink as her sweater and she quickly averted her gaze and re-focused her attention on the book, comfortably sliding into her desk chair. "Besides, I heard all about your date with Captain Jenkins yesterday. I guess she's more your type than I am."

"I only did it for Buffy," he protested, as he slumped onto the ratty navy colored sofa perched against the wall, heaving a fairly frustrated sigh. "Which, you know, is weird, because I hardly know her, you know?"

"What I _know_, is that you went to a whole lot of trouble for a girl who was put away for murder when her mom's body isn't even in that coffin anymore. I suppose it's kinda noble in an odd way, so I'll give you a few points there on the side of good. But Spike obviously isn't telling us the half of it. Whatever he's into, whatever- we need to start coming up with some answers, Xander, or they might just decide the big guys could do a better job."

"You're talking about the Feds."

She nodded. "If they take over Jennifer Hart's case, we're obligated to turn everything over to them. Her husband's a lawyer, so he'll be pushing for it. Answers using words like abracadabra and hocus pocus aren't exactly of the logical variety, and right now it's all we have to go on."

"You said you had something to show me," he reminded her, gesturing to the book she continued to hoard.

"Yeah, uh, that's...well, it's- you should be sitting down."

"I am sitting," he pointed out.

"Right. O...okay."

He leaned forward, his brow creased with worry. "What is it, Will?"

"It doesn't only talk about witches in here," she uttered softly. "There's more than just spells and magic and stuff."

"Such as?"

"Demons. More specifically? _Vampires_. And there are sketches."

"Sketches."

"Of the vampires. They go into this rant about something called slayers and how they're supposed to kill them."

"It's in Latin," Xander countered. "How can you be sure that what-"

"Maybe because I'm fluent in it?" she argued. "Hello, high school?"

"They didn't teach-"

"They did so. Extracurricular activities. Which you maybe would've known if you weren't always trying to skip that part and get me into bed all the time. There's so much about each other that we aren't even aware of yet, and the fact that we keep these secrets is one great big massive pile of horse manure. You can work with somebody for years and not know a thing about them."

"So we're back to the knowing."

"Remember what I told you about this being all serious? Well, it is! Completely," she added. "As in no messing around."

"Willow, c'mon."

"William the Bloody."

He chuckled, as he walked over the tiny fridge and pulled out a bottle of soda, freeing the cap and placing it to his lips. "What, is that like a gang thing or something?"

"William the Bloody," she read from the book. "Of which it has been widely speculated was due to his penchant for writing bloody awful poetry and was aptly coined at the behest of his peers. However, it could be debated that it later served him well as a result of his insatiable quest for violence. His reputation dictates that he was later simply referred to as Spike. Feared by humans and vampires alike, the second ill-famed nickname he bestowed upon himself suited the pleasure he took in torturing his victims with railroad spikes, bringing their lives to a rather painful end. The Watcher before me has documented evidence that for all intents and purposes indicates this Spike is also responsible for the death of a young slayer during the span of the Boxer Rebellion, but at present his whereabouts remain unknown. Born a shy, quiet man in London, England circa the mid eighteen hundreds, the source of his vampirism exists by one name only. Drusilla. It has been said she perished at the hands of an angry mob in Prague, though her death has never been confirmed. Together, with Drusilla's sire Angelus, and Angelus' paramour Darla, the two of them wreaked havoc throughout Europe and Asia, and have left a trail of blood in their wake."

"That's a great piece of fiction you've got there, Will." He finished off the bottle and tossed it in the vicinity of the recycler, his aim just a fraction off as it bounced off the floor with a profound crack. "Pretty clever use of Pratt's name, too. But you don't need to impress me, all right? I've always liked you just the way you are."

"I'm not making it up!" she squeaked. "This is an actual record that vampires exist. The penmanship is all fancy and delicate and the pages are yellow. _Yellow_, Xander. Like before our time yellow. You can't fake that kind of authenticity now. Well, you...you could, but why would I go to all of that trouble when this case has enough weirdness as it is? They'd just put me away, too."

"Will-"

"Plus, there's a picture! The hair's a bit poofy and there's glasses, but you can't tell me that doesn't look like Spike. It's right down to those cheekbones of his."

Xander glanced at the sketch in question, studying it for a moment as he ran his fingers through his dark hair. "Maybe. A little. The nose might be off. But reality check here, okay? Pratt's not that old, and like it or not, he'd just get a big laugh out of this. It's no different than the women who fawn all over him at parties. He doesn't give a damn and neither should you."

"Hence the whole being a vampire thing, you ninny. They don't age! If he was around thirty when he was turned, he'd technically be thirty forever."

"Yeah, but he walks around during the day. In daylight. Vampires are supposed to burn up in the sun. Or they would if there was such a thing, which there isn't, so this is-"

"What about his comment about the monsters?"

"It was Pratt being Pratt. He loves to yank our chains."

"Did you ever ask him where he got his nickname?"

"I..."

"Well, did you?" she demanded, without bothering to give him ample time for a reply. "Because the only Spike I'm familiar with is Snoopy's brother and I don't think our friend took his name from a dog with a hat and a silly mustache."

"He _is_ a self-proclaimed Peanuts fan," Xander admitted. "To be fair, I just watched A Charlie Brown Christmas at his place last week. And before you judge, in our defense, we both needed to get into the spirit. It's tough on a guy when homicides have tripled before the New Year."

"Right, and every time I see a Willow tree, I get overly sentimental and pull a tissue out of my pocket. His name sticks out like a sore thumb, and you know it."

"Willow, I adore you, I do. But Halloween is over and the ghouls have all gone home. Take it with a grain of salt. Whoever gave you that book is trying to mess with your head. It wouldn't be a first in our line of work."

"Someone's trying to tell us something."

"Yeah, that we should probably move faster to solve this case because it's doing a great job of making everybody crazy. Not to mention totally kicking our asses in a not so good way."

"How did he take it when you told him about Buffy having to be back this morning?"

He shook his head. "Not well, but that's par for the course, isn't it? The poor guy is set on getting her name tattooed across his chest."

"Really?"

"No, but the unhealthy obsession he's developing isn't doing him any favors for future departmental psyche evaluations, either."

"He cares about her." She placed the book aside and almost seemed to be contemplating the notion, her eyes locking with his. "I guess it kinda all comes back to that knowing thing again, doesn't it? When you meet that somebody, you just know."

"Know what?"

"That they're the one."

"Whoa, let's just back it up a notch there and put the brakes on," he asserted. "If you're implying that Spike's the type to settle down and start a life with a wife and lots of sugar-hyped little runts, I'm afraid you're about to be immensely disappointed. Have you _seen_ the girls he brings home with him?"

"Well, that wouldn't matter if he was a vampire now, would it?" she challenged. "Vampires can't have kids, anyway. It doesn't mean they can't still love, or…or have sex."

"Yes, because it's a documented piece of movie trivia that they enjoy biting and seducing their lady victims into mush which renders them defenseless."

"But let's say he was. Not those vampires we're used to, mind you, but a vampire nonetheless. Would you still do it? Turn him in? I mean it was done to witches all the time when they put the ban into effect. It didn't matter if they had families. But Spike has done a lot of good here. He's a good guy. It makes sense that he'd want to keep his secret. If...if there was a secret to keep, that is. He'd want to, wouldn't he? I could never see him hurting us."

"You remember when he got shot, right?"

"You're talking about the woman who killed her brother after holding him hostage and was about to turn the gun on herself."

"She shot at him, Willow."

"He said it was-"

"Just a graze. But it wasn't. He downplayed it for all it was worth, but we never did find the bullet. Those guys swept that crime scene from top to bottom and weren't able to retrieve it. Where the hell did it go?"

"Is this your way of agreeing that it's a possibility?"

"Between that and the little chat he had with our killer, I'm not sure what I believe anymore. Maybe that makes me as nutty as the rest of them. But he's my friend before anything else. What he is or isn't in the way of creature feature wouldn't change that. So he wasn't a stand-up guy in his past. He is now, and now is what matters."

"Do you think Giles knows?"

"No, but it might be in our best interest to schedule a field trip and pay our resident record keeper a visit regardless. I tried Spike's cell prior to coming here and he's not picking up."

He didn't want to get up.

Spike Pratt watched the rise and fall of Buffy's chest as she lay sleeping soundly beside him, her long blonde hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her, his unbeating heart swelling at the sight. She'd asked him earlier if he wouldn't mind staying with her until she'd been able to vanquish the images of the horrific nightmare from her mind, and he'd promised himself he'd leave the minute her eyes closed shop- yet he couldn't quite manage to bring himself to carry out the intended task when her exhaustion had eventually set in and consumed her, leaving her vulnerable all over again. That was well over four hours ago, and still he didn't move.

He very hesitantly reached out and ran a thumb across her glorious bottom lip and used his index finger to trace the delicate planes of her nose, noticing how she stirred the tiniest bit before angling her body further into him, seeking out warmth he didn't have. He didn't think he'd ever seen her so completely peaceful, and it nearly broke him that it had to be so terribly short-lived. But if he wanted to maintain the schedule he'd mentally rehashed a dozen times in his head, he'd have to stick to the timetable that followed it, and that meant pulling off what he had planned without a single hitch. Placing a feather light kiss to her brow, he reluctantly drew himself into an upright position and quietly shifted his lean frame off the bed, walking over to the closet and retrieving the two suitcases on the floor. When he'd packed what he thought was a sufficient amount of clothing, he reached for Buffy's duffel and the additional wardrobe items that had since amassed inside of it as a result of a little help from Cordelia. He hastily dressed in a pair of worn jeans, a black t-shirt, and his combat boots, throwing a forest green sweatshirt over the ensemble.

Spike made his way down to the lobby of the apartment complex and covered the short distance to his vehicle parked against the curb, prying open the trunk and placing the two suitcases and duffel inside. The street was entirely deserted and the silence that enveloped him, save a few birds, was rather unnerving. It thoroughly irritated him more than anything else. But he'd already decided he wasn't going to let it drive him to the brink and over the impending precipice that was eagerly anticipating a nearly unavoidable demise. Harris had kindly suggested plunging his fist into a wall after he'd confessed the bad news about Buffy, and right now the vampire was strongly mulling over the prospect of letting it collide with the windshield of his car, not at concerned about the damage incurred when his hand came into contact with the glass.

Instead, he slumped to the ground and beat his head up against the driver's side door, the tears flowing freely down his hollow cheeks, as he held his head in hands he'd had every intention of bloodying by brutally beating them into unconscious submission. Envisioning the broken shards that he would have allowed to slice into his skin without care or consequence, his body shook heavily from his sobs, his blue eyes wrought with grief. He was about to sacrifice the only real sense of normalcy he'd ever known for a woman he barely knew. A woman Giles had convinced a coven to shelter from within the dark confines of a ruthless prison because he'd felt genuine affection for her mother and had in turn suffered a great loss himself. A slayer. The one girl his kind had been conditioned to fear and hunt and kill. And somehow, he had no desire to do any of those things. Somehow, it all felt exactly right.

She was still asleep fifteen minutes later, and he was chary to make sure she stayed that way when he gently lifted her unresponsive form from the bed and cradled her safely in his arms, skillfully sliding his identification card through the slot before he exited. Not that it made any difference. Once they came to search it, a lock would be the least of their problems. Offering one last look behind him, he began the descent down to the lobby once again, mindful of the oncoming traffic that was starting to breeze by as he settled Buffy comfortably into the passenger seat. Securing the seat belt across her chest, he shut the door and made his way over to the opposite side, glancing both ways before he edged away from the curb.

It was a long shot.

Sooner or later the magicks he'd invested in would fail to hold up their end of the bargain and if Buffy's dream was any substantial indication, the coven was going to run into a road block of their own with any kind of safeguard they implemented at Giles' request. It wouldn't last. He initially thought the voice that had spoken to him twice had sounded the tiniest bit familiar, but now he wasn't so sure, and would bet dollars to donuts their Merlin was a new player who sought the kind of power that almost always prodded itself into stone cold corruption. The only thing that he was able to glean from that was a man who walked the world as he did, but was in reality just as viciously demonic in nature. The only difference between them, was that a murderer would openly choose to embrace it, while Spike had done everything he could to conceal it and conform to a society that no longer welcomed it.

Frowning, he recited a contact number into his backup micro cell.

"To what do I owe the occasion, sugar plum?"

"Bollocks." He rolled his eyes. "Thought I told you not to call me that."

"Judging by your voice I can see we're all business this morning. What gives?"

"Can't a bloke just-"

"No, he can't. Not when you're not even singing and I can still tell you're one giant billboard of worry. You also haven't been by since who in the heck knows when, so I figure it's high time to make some of those amends."

Spike professed an unnecessary sigh, glancing briefly in the review mirror. "Gonna need to crash for a few days, and I'll need weapons."

"Is that all? Because I'm sensing some underlying tension there and I'm guessing it involves some sweet young thing who's just breezed on into your un-life and turned it upside down. Am I right?"

"And to think, I didn't even have to sing."

"Look, I've got a room upstairs, but I'll warn you in advance when I say it's in the most basic stages of renovation. Basic, as it so happens, is key. Just remember that before you go for the jugular, Mr. Peroxide Wonder. Turns out my guy didn't show up for work yesterday, so we're already a day behind schedule. If he knows what's good for him, he'll take a cut in pay and skedaddle."

"What about the training room in the back?"

"Oh, it's lovely. You owe me two thousand, but it's lovely."

"You'll get your cash when we get there."

"Yeah, and you never did tell me what you're using it for, did you?"

"I'm afraid that reason's changed drastically over the last twenty-four hours, but it's just as well, 'cuz I'll be putting it all to good use. Me and the bird."

"Oh, right, your newly minted little chickadee. Something tells me I'm really gonna like this one. Sounds like she's a keeper."

"Not so sure about that, but she's special, at any rate. Picked her up in the slammer."

"You frequent the strangest of places."

"Spike?" _Buffy._

"Look, I gotta go. I'll be there in a few, so do what you can to spruce it up. It's just a temporary fix 'til I can suss out a plan B. And before I forget, I'm forever grateful."

"Later, my nicely chiseled friend."

"Where are we and who were you talking to?" Buffy yawned, as she tried to open her eyes against the vibrant glare of sunlight streaming through her window, her green orbs squinting against its harsh rays. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, and noticed her attire for the first time, shooting him a pointed glare. "And more importantly, why am I still in my pajamas?"

"Got an appointment," he replied simply.

"Is it with a really large cup of coffee?"

"No." He winced, but pressed on, determined to get it all out there while he still had the balls to do it. "It would've been with the warden to return you to that grand old cell of yours, but I thought another change of scenery might be best for the long haul."

She didn't recognize any of the so-called scenery he spoke of, but something inside of her was already on the verge of launching into a legitimate state of panic. The rows and rows of never ending palm trees and buildings that trailed up to the sky weren't doing anything to calm her disastrous mood any easier, and she was beginning to feel more than just a little lost and frazzled at what was forming a rather unsettling picture in her brain. She wasn't wearing restraints, but that didn't mean he was above using them again if she went and stepped out of line or wavered from whatever stupid path they'd suddenly found themselves embarking on. "You kidnapped me."

"I'd use that term loosely if I were you, Slayer."

"How is it loose when you pretty much shoved me in your car and yelled go? You gunned your pedal to the metal and the rest is history. I thought last night actually meant something, I thought that we-"

"It did," he assured her.

"But it would've gone so much smoother if you'd actually gone and gotten me naked, is that it?"

"Right then. Don't s'pose you'd fancy me pulling this car over again and lettin' you experience my response to that? 'Cuz as it stands right now, my rescue operation was clearly the better option of the two we were left with. My captain ordered me to return you to your hidey hole, and I was set to comply in a few hours' time. Turns out you mean a bloody lot more to me than being taken advantage of in that dump and tryin' to ignore the fact that you don't exactly enjoy what those men do to you."

She slapped him good and hard across his right cheek, and God help him, it stung like the dickens. Her slayer strength seemed to be developing at full throttle and would likely show no signs of slowing down until the higher powers turned her into the warrior she was meant to be. Still, he didn't retaliate and kept driving, not quite knowing what to say to make things the least bit appealing in the wake of her thunderous accusations. He knew she wasn't going to be pleased, but her reaction was a far cry from what he'd expected.

"So you just turned your back on your duty and your partner and threw away detective?"

"My duty isn't as sacred as yours. 'Sides, I've still got a gun and a badge and-"

"I hate to rain on your parade there, Charles Bronson, but a badge and a gun won't help with a guy wearing mucho grande horns and a fetish for spells that threaten to destroy us. So you might want to try and revise that part before charging into battle."

"Think you missed the point there, love."

"There's a point to something even more pointless?" she quipped. "Do tell."

"I get that you're pissed off here, pet. But you've just-"

"Oh, pissed off is too kind a word for what you're subjecting me to."

"There's not much I wouldn't do for you," he confessed, his tone riddled with the faintest trace of emotion that he was doing his damndest not to bring to the forefront. "Make that _nothing_ I wouldn't do for you. But if I'd have told you what Harris said to me last night, I doubt you'd still be hanging about by first light. You'd have found some way to flee again and take all your precious girly things with you. An escaped convict on top of a murder conviction is just icing on the sodding cake for me. One bloody good kiss doesn't come close to placating that."

"I may have been tried and convicted, but I'm not a murderer. You know I'm not. You've spent- and that kiss was great. Of epicness, even."

"No arguments here, sweetheart. But the fact is, I can't change that guilty verdict any more than you can extend your stay. We're both caught in a bind here. Apparently I'm the only one of us willing to do anything about it. You're either in or you're out, so I'd urge you to take your sodding pick."

"Where are you taking me? I...I mean us? There's still an us here, right?"

"Thought I made it pretty clear there was. Unless you've got other ideas."

"So we're a team for real this time. A kind of Bonnie to your Clyde?"

He directed his eyes heavenward, and reminded himself just what he was laying on the line for her. "Buggering hell. We're not robbing banks, Buffy. We're doing what we can to-"

"Preserve the slayer line," she recited, tapping her fingers to his arm. "Yada, yada, yada. I know the drill."

"There's a karoake bar called Caritas run by an empath who's an old mate of mine. It's a sort of...sanctuary where humans and demons can take refuge without risking persecution from the ban. Practicing humans can see it, but these days you need a special invite to enter. Violence isn't permitted inside, 'cuz some Furies cast a spell to prevent it. You've also got your usual run of the mill shield that protects it from authoritative control if someone enforcing the city rules tries to slip past the invite with one of their fancy gadgets. Lorne has the ability to see into your soul when you sing, and he's all about guidin' you on your way to righteousness or whatever. I've never actually belted out a song myself, but we've touched base here and there over the years. He's no Rupert, but you can't deny he's a blooming pillar of good faith."

"Demon?"

"Yeah. He was Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan before he started calling himself Lorne."

"Wow. I can see how Lorne would be better."

"He likes it when you ask him about all that rot, too. If you're lookin' to make his day, I'd go that route. He never gets tired of telling those ditties about Pylea, and if you're open to it, he'll talk your ear off 'til closing. Humans weren't exactly big in his home dimension and the demons there called 'em cows. If you see a portal, I don't recommend taking it."

"Thanks for the advice."

Spike made a left at the intersection he'd paused at, and careened onto yet another street. He passed an elderly man riding a bicycle and a woman walking a large dog, the breed lost on him, but gorgeous just the same. It occurred to him that he'd never been out for a jaunt that brought him such foolish pleasure since he'd acquired the ring Calendar had made for him, and he ached to remedy that. He could still recall the first real glimpse of sunlight he'd allowed to wash over him when he'd slipped it on his finger, but he'd refrained from fully using it to his advantage as a result of having grown perfectly accustomed to a hundred plus years without the tiny miracle. And a miracle it was. He imagined a day much like the one that lay spread out before him, with Buffy's hand threaded through his as they took a leisurely walk in the park without repercussion or fear of adversaries, the two of them truly happy with life and each other. But that was as far as it went, because it could never be. He could never be the man who grew old with a wife. All he could do was watch as the decades claimed her youth and stole her further away from him. "You're really not mad?"

"I was," she conceded. "I...mostly I'm just glad you didn't undress me."

He laughed, and it lit up his beautiful face, his blues meeting her greens. "Can't say it didn't cross my mind a time or two."

"Or three or four," Buffy continued, giggling. "I think I at least know you well enough by now to see just how you operate, mister." She shrugged then, as she glanced out the window once more, bringing up a hand to block out the unrelenting sunshine. "I'm thankful, though. I am. It's been a long time since anybody's put this much trust in me. My mom, maybe. But that feels like forever ago. Maybe she trusted me too much, though, because-"

"No such thing as too much," he countered.

"And aside from the whole vampire thing, she'd probably be really glad I met someone like you."

"Don't reckon she would've been overjoyed about her daughter being an all-powerful slayer, though."

"No, that actually might take some getting used to, wouldn't it?"

"_Some_ gettin' used to?"

She just hit him.


	10. Chapter 10: Show Your Mettle

Chapter Ten: Show Your Mettle

8:07 AM

Spike carefully eased his car into the cramped space that barely passed for parking at Caritas, not the least bit surprised to see Lorne lingering near the open doorway in a gold robe with black trim, a glass of wine cradled between his green fingers. He leisurely lifted it to his lips and took a long, joyful sip, watching through blood red eyes as the vampire emerged and popped the trunk of the vehicle, dragging out the suitcases and duffel and shutting it with a surprisingly loud snap. The noise made his passenger flinch somewhat, allowing herself to slowly exit on the opposite side, sneaking only the briefest of glances at the quirky demonic proprietor of the establishment while hesitantly following Spike over to the back entrance.

"Cheer up, sunshine. It could always be worse, and if the vibes I'm getting off you are any indication, _a lot_ worse. Things aren't always smooth on the ride to paradise." He mumbled a rather unintelligible phrase that permitted the two of them access and swiftly moved to re-engage the locks.

"Believe me, it's worse," he clarified, before easily depositing the luggage on the floor and propping his slender frame against the empty bar, his blue eyes grazing the familiar interior with a vague sense of interest. He retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a zippo from the pocket of his jeans, lighting up without consequence, and remaining noticeably oblivious to his friend's expostulation in response.

"Worse how?" the empath questioned, setting his drink down upon the spotless surface. "What is it you've gone and gotten yourself into this time, pray tell?"

"Buffy this is Lorne. Lorne, Buffy."

"A pleasure, honey." He sent her a wide grin, subtly releasing the cork on yet another bottle of wine and letting it breath. "Welcome to the one demon bar in the city where you're not allowed to kill each other and throw things. You're also not allowed to smoke, but it's never stopped this fine hunk of manliness from lighting up. He's always marched to the beat of his own drummer."

"It's probably because men are always so pig-headed," she volunteered, returning the smile and suddenly feeling much more at ease.

"Yep, I knew I liked her. Please tell me you're not gonna let this one go. She already knows you like a book."

"Can't say I haven't thought about it," he murmured, as he blew out a thick stream of smoke. "Unfortunately, she's far too rare a commodity."

"Hey," Buffy demurred. "The only thing that's a commodity here, pal, is-"

"You're a slayer, love. Do the bloody math." Spike reached over and eagerly snatched the bottle from Lorne's grasp, consuming half of it before sliding it into his friend's waiting hands again. " 'Sides, it's not like I didn't mean it as a compliment."

"You just likened me to a possession. How exactly is that a compliment?"

"Poor choice of words there, amigo. I, uh, believe you owe your Dulcinea an apology." The demon examined the remaining contents of the wine he'd just opened, shaking his head. "And let's try and lay off the alcohol until at least ten am. I really don't think I should be condoning a free for all in your present state of duress."

"Fine, not a compliment." He flattened the tip of his cigarette into the ashtray that was placed in front of him. "Sorry, pet. I didn't- I just meant that you're the only one of your kind and I don't fancy the prospect of losin' you to some evil bloke with an itch that needs scratchin'. I'm a bad, rude man and I was wrong. Happy?"

"For your information, it's the last thing I want, too," she assured him quietly. "No getting lost. Hence the whole coming with you on such short notice thing. I'm totally on board with it! Maybe not so much with the kidnapping part, but I really take offense to being referred to as some blatant object of desire when I know-"

"Right, 'cuz you've clearly driven that point into the sodding mud when we should probably just be done with it altogether."

"It sounds like I just became an extra on soap opera Tuesday," Lorne professed, a trace of amusement laced through his voice. "Why don't I just give you two lovebirds the key to your room and call it a day, huh?"

Spike shot him a glare. "You couldn't be more off the mark if you tried."

"No, I'm actually right on it," he insisted wearily. "Which is why the waves of tension rolling off the both of you is enough to give anyone a very nasty headache."

"Balls." Spike rolled his eyes, gritting his teeth as he contemplated another cigarette. "Look, remember how I told you I found her?"

"Prison," he acknowledged. "After all, how could I possibly forget? It's not every day a vampire takes such a liking to a human and doesn't plan on making her his meal ticket. And I mean that literally, by the way. If it were anything else preying upon the less fortunate out there, this scrumptious little cupcake would've been shish kabob."

"She's already served seven years for killing her mum and would have served more if a colleague of mine hadn't convinced me to read between the bloody lines after Robert Hart's wife was murdered. The same bird also wanted me to dig deeper into Buffy's case. I did, and it doesn't fit. Any of it. She was wrongly convicted, and aside from a promise that I'd never take her back to that God awful place again, I'm tryin' to prove she didn't do it. So yeah. You're putting a roof over a fugitive's head and if that'll in any way hinder our arrangement as it stands, just remember you're also dealing with an immortal cop whose gone rogue."

"It's quite the sacrifice," Lorne admitted. "I just don't know that it's entirely wise to take this on all by your lonesome. I get that your friends aren't exactly in the loop here, mon ami, but don't you think a little story time would be just what they need right now? They're basically up shit's creek without a paddle." He shrugged. "On the other hand, if this is the same Robert Hart of Wolfram and Hart, expect a lot more trouble than you can probably handle. The guy knows people- and I mean, big, important people. He isn't just gonna let this fall by the wayside and hope for things to work themselves out."

"You don't say."

"What happened to the body?"

Spike laughed, steepling his fingers together before laying them atop the counter. "Which part do you want first? The fact that it was drained of blood as a result of the dark arts, or that it disappeared in the morgue by same right before my very eyes?"

"Ouch," Lorne murmured, as he poured the remaining contents from the bottle into his glass. "Why am I starting to sense this goes deeper than just his M.O.?"

"Maybe 'cuz whoever did this did the same thing to Buffy's mum and pulled the evidence right out of her bleeding coffin. Harris and I had it dug up to take a peek inside. Turns out it's as empty as the day it was bought and paid for, so I'd wager we were seven years too late."

"Well, hey, on the bright side, you rescued the fair maiden from the dungeon and are well on your way to earning your medal of honor. I can't say I've heard any rumblings from down below these past few weeks, but I'll be sure and get my ear pretty low to the ground."

Spike nodded. "Don't think it would hurt to have one more on our side."

"Having a slayer on your side's gonna help you plenty, trust me. Although, you have to wonder why he's so interested in what she is, and how he must've already known what she'd turn out to be. I mean if I didn't know better, I'd bet my two horns he has his own twisted timetable to contend with and is trying hard to stay on schedule. He'll be really angry you've put him on standby." He chuckled as he finished off the last of the wine. "Of course, the only guys who were ever that obsessed with precision were Watchers. You could argue that they were only trying to keep their charges alive, but some of them were really bordering on crazytown."

"That right?"

"I'd swear on the destruction of Pylea, but I could never be so lucky. The point is, things aren't as straightforward as they seem. You used to kill and pillage small villages before you smartened up enough to want a soul. Once an evil fiend, doesn't necessarily constitute that you'll always _be_ an evil fiend. We change, we evolve, and occasionally for some of us, evolving takes a real nosedive if you trade in your light for darkness. If I were in your shoes, I think I'd be asking myself if this murderer of yours pulled a Darth Vader."

"Are you telling me he was some kind of Obi Wan-Anakin hybrid before he bled his victims dry?"

"We all start somewhere, don't we?"

"Harris was ramblin' on about a crooked priest, but I can't see it being tied to the church. It's got religious elements, but I'm not feeling it."

"He might not want to be redeemed, but there's something inside all of us that still yearns to be accepted. Even if what we do isn't always kosher."

"Yeah, all right," he conceded. "But aside from a desire to eliminate the slayer line, the git isn't giving me what I need to crack this thing. Still don't know why he's doing it and he's not one to reveal his secrets."

"A true magician never does."

"Is that offer about the room still good, 'cuz I'd like to get settled in a bit before we go all out with the weapons."

"Got the key right here," he vouched, as he pulled a small card from the pocket of his robe and waved it in front of his face. "Your specifications are all in order. Why don't you grab your bags and we'll head on up there."

"Is he usually right?" Buffy whispered, lagging just a bit behind as she began climbing the steps beside the blonde detective, her heart beating just a bit faster again in her chest.

"About what, pet?"

"He's implying this guy knows his Slayer Handbook," she reiterated. "What if it's someone I _have_ met before, and I just can't place him? What if I saw him before that night?"

"You didn't."

"But you asked me if anything stood out. You wanted to know if-"

He shook his head. "I'm sensing it's someone with a background in education. That would jive with the so-called Slayer Handbook, and it would also explain why the ponce quoted John Adams to me. Might well have a degree he got while attending some fancy prep school his mum or dad got the funding for. I taunted the bastard about it, too, and made some crack about a history professor. He didn't seem to want to dwell on that too much and switched the bloody subject. The angle was worth pursuing and I just let it go."

"There was no way you could've figured it out."

"But I should've," he corrected. "I was too busy insulting him to care. Thought I was gettin' somewhere, when in reality I was giving him the ammunition to come after us in the woods. I didn't listen. Thought I was better than he was, and used that to my advantage."

"He'd have access to all kinds of books if he were a history professor," she reminded him. "Even books that went out of print around the time of the ban."

"I know."

"So couldn't you, like, have your friend Giles hack into old library records to see what he can dig up? It might give us a name, and once we have that, we-"

"He only left behind his costume in that dumpster 'cuz he wanted us to find it. Wasn't by accident. Murderers don't usually leave a trail, Buffy- much less a name. Not a real one, at least."

"Yeah, I guess that's true, especially since you're calling yourself Spike now."

"Did back then, too." He turned to her as they reached the second floor, the warmth vanishing from his eyes as he fixed her with a hard stare. "You know, if you have a point, I suggest you get to it. Sodding tired of going round and round the bend with you about who or what you think I am. You're gonna have to make up your mind, and when you do, I bloody well hope it's for good this time. Despite my snackin' on half the planet back in the day, I don't have insight to the spindles workin' overtime in his noggin. I never used magic to render my victims defenseless. Thrall was Dru's thing, not mine."

"Uh, is one bed gonna be a problem?" Lorne cut in, as he slid the card through the slot to the doorway he stood near, his line of vision tracking first to Buffy and then to Spike. "Not that I'm insinuating anything, but it might be best if the mister here goes the safe route and just bunks on the floor tonight."

"We're all adults here," Buffy added softly.

"And sharing means caring," he quipped as he handed her the card and brushed past them, waving as he moved further down the hall. "The training room is on the basement level. It's the only one there so you can't miss it. Weapons are in the chest. Try not to break anything."

Spike drew out a bunch of bills secured by a metal clip, withdrawing the correct amount and passing it on to his mate. Lorne hesitated for just a moment before he walked up and took it, nodding his head in silent thanks and continuing on his way. The color of the walls in the room he'd shown them to ranged from a dull beige to a light green and the drapes adorning the window were white with black stripes, a small fraction of light emanating from a small lamp perched upon the miniscule table that resided next to the queen sized bed. The sheets that covered it were the color of crunchy leaves in the forest, as was the plush carpet below, the ceiling shockingly mismatched at a horrid sky blue. The only framed photo depicted a beach with palm trees and waves crashing into the shoreline.

"It's like the hotel from hell."

"He got it for us last minute, pet. If anything, it's more comfy than prison."

She smiled. "Guess you owed me one, huh?"

"I'd advise you to change and meet me downstairs," he confirmed, ignoring her question completely. "Training starts in ten minutes."

Buffy found she was still harboring a fairly large guilt trip for the way she'd openly ragged on him earlier, and made certain she reached the basement in less than five, showing him that she could not only be punctual, but that she was genuinely taking her request seriously. After all, she was the one who'd begged and pleaded with him to teach her a thing or two, so it was only fair that she comply and put her all into it- whatever that was. Truth be told, she wasn't entirely sure what he had in mind for her. He was shirtless and barefoot when she saw him, wearing only a pair of black sweats, his back to her near the entrance. She hadn't seen any athletic equipment in his apartment during her short stay, but when she'd snuck a brief peek at how nicely he maintained his physique upon seeking comfort in the aftermath of her nightmare, she had no doubts that he frequented the gym during his off duty hours where he sought freedom from the burden of work. Maybe it was even a kind of release for him if he was still repressing the sins he'd committed prior to attaining his soul.

But it was simply breathtaking how well-defined his upper body was in the light. He'd obviously been blessed in that department and she wouldn't be the least bit surprised to learn he was blessed in certain other areas as well.

She felt it the second he sensed her and turned around, his blue eyes indecipherable, yet piercing, as he motioned for her to come a bit closer. Her attire consisted of a bright pink sports bra and a pair of gray shorts, her feet decked out in a pair of simple sneakers. Cordelia had seemed fine with her taste in fashion and hadn't pried into her reason for buying it, but the way in which Spike's gaze was practically devouring her and taking in what appeared to be every last detail of the revealing ensemble, had her internally wrestling with herself as to whether or not she should have been much more cognizant in her decisions where he was concerned. She honestly didn't want to give off the wrong kind of message, and was at present of the impression that an oddly gaudy burlap sack might have scored her better points.

Any fascination he'd been overly preoccupied with was over as soon as it started, though, and he swiftly tossed her a long pole before picking up one for himself, advancing in her direction when she declined to take another step. Holding it firmly in front of him, he invaded her space of his own accord, seemingly unbothered by the close proximity. The pole was approximately six feet in length and seemed to be composed of hardwood. "We'll start with the most basic of the lot first. This is a quarterstaff, also known as a short staff. It was predominantly used for stick fighting in England during the Early Modern Period. These don't have metal tips, but even if they did, I doubt you'd be ready to take 'em on at this stage. The right hand is supposed to grip it about a quarter of the distance from the lower end." He demonstrated the action as he spoke, and allowed her to mimic the gesture, apparently rather pleased with the results.

"Will I be fighting vampire monks?"

"It isn't just for vampires. Unless you're familiar with your opponent, don't make the assumption that he'll always have fangs. Whoever killed your mum and Jennifer Hart didn't give 'em the luxury. You have it. Use it to your advantage. You need to be in control and anticipate it." Without warning he struck out at her, immediately launching into the offensive as he promptly knocked her feet out from under her, her back hitting the ground with a pronounced thud.

"You...never..." She tried in vain to catch her breath, struggling somewhat to prop herself up.

"And they won't, either," he went on. "They won't just hang about and hand over the bloody trophy if they know they still have a shot at winning it. You have to see it coming."

"It's not that simple."

"Damn right it's not. If it was, do you really think we'd be standing here doing this? A good slayer could do it blindfolded. She'd know exactly where I was at all times, and she'd use her instincts to survive and map out every move I make. She'd trust in herself that she'd get the job done. I'm not gettin' anything from you that tells me your heart is really in this."

"You didn't even give me a chance!"

Bingo, he thought. That spark of understanding- a purpose. "He never gave your mum a chance when he let himself into your house uninvited that night and killed her, did he? He went and hit you right where it hurt, and you lost someone incredibly dear to you and were forced to take the blame for her death when it was you he was aimin' for instead. There was rage there, even then. Rage and the need to do harm. To find who was responsible and see that they were put to justice. To see that they paid for their crime. You needed to know why the system failed you 'cuz you sure as hell didn't deserve it."

"Shut up," she whispered.

"Poor lost little girl. She's got no one to love her now and she's all alone. But those guards didn't see it that way, did they? No, they relished the thought of havin' a tasty morsel within reach and knew just how to push her buttons to get her to submit. If you let 'em have their way with you, they wouldn't make up all those wild stories that painted you as causin' nothing but trouble. You've gotta be on your best behavior if there's even the smallest smidgeon of hope for early release. Turns out, you've got to get 'em off on their own release for awhile first."

"I said, shut up." She swung at him with her quarterstaff, his reflexes as sharp as a cat's as he effortlessly blocked the blow, his weapon clashing repeatedly with hers as they proceeded to go a few rounds. With each attempt he made, she parried it and pushed him back a might, successfully bringing him to his knees. Spike wasn't prepared for the clenched fist that rammed itself into his face and propelled him backward.

He angrily swiped at the blood that was pouring out of the corner of his mouth. "Bugger it, Summers. That was _supposed_ to get you all fired up! Tryin' to help you along your way a bit. Comes with the territory when you can't get in the mood. Way to do your part in properly thankin' me."

"Really? Because it looked like you meant every word you said straight down to the letter. So the way I see it, my fist was payment enough."

"You're missing the bloody point! It's not the first time, and I've got reason to believe it won't be the last."

"Bloody? Well, one of us is. From where I'm standing, I can safely tell you it isn't me."

"Thank God for plastic wood grain or else you'd probably end up stakin' me for real and calling it a painful accident."

"They make fake stakes?"

"Yeah, the overall look is pretty authentic, though, and could just about pass for the real thing. I've steered clear of 'em a time or two over the years and it stings worse than that punch you just threw. Goes right through your sodding heart without any signs of stopping. Trust me, you shouldn't ever be on the receiving end of it."

"Okay, so just out of curiosity, exactly how many times have you been fake staked?"

"Afraid that's not up for discussion."

She jokingly tapped his chest with her pole. "You're such a big baby, you know that?"

"Oh, _I'm_ a big baby?"

"Yes. You are."

He hopped to his feet again and regained his balance, just as she rather predictably lost hers and stumbled, her knack for being so easily distracted making it impossible to execute the task at hand for the second time that day. If it were an actual test, she was aware of the fact that she would have failed miserably and forfeited her graduation to full slayerdom. But maybe it wouldn't have seemed so bad, seeing as she wasn't exactly keen on embracing it and allowing it to alter her way of life to begin with. "Well, well, well, what do you know? Looks like I win this one."

"And here I thought we'd be skipping right on over to hand to hand."

"Not likely."

"Can't we just call it quits for today? I think I feel Lorne's headache coming on."

"Nice try." He held out a hand, waiting until she clasped it before yanking her into an upright position, slowly shaking his head. "But we haven't even covered crossbows or swords yet, pet. Not to mention holy water and crosses."

"Do you think it could really be a Watcher?"

Spike padded over to the single chair in the room and retrieved a black t-shirt, flawlessly slipping it over his slender frame without meeting her inquiry with his eyes. "If it was, we'd be screwed."

"Why, because he knows stuff?"

"It's more than that, ain't it? Say this nit is or was some sort of professor who was offered a job at the Council. They can him for whatever reason and he makes it known to 'em in some form or another that he's not just gonna sit back and take it. Meanwhile, he's quite possibly overwhelmed at the prospect that there may be something else he can do about it to rectify his...unfinished business. He may have gotten the raw end of the deal when he tried to bargain, but there's no legitimate cause to cry over spilt milk now, is there? Instead, he bides his time and thinks of all of the nasty, horrible things he can do to show 'em he's the last guy they should mess with. Watchers usually have some level of proficiency in magic in their profession, but most are by nature only amateurs."

"Wow. Could it be that you've actually given this more thought than me?" she deadpanned, crossing her arms over chest as she tapped her shoe upon the floor below.

"Just tossin' it around and tryin' to get a feel," he countered. "As a cop, I've had the unfortunate pleasure of seeing plenty of good blokes get sucked into the abyss with no way out. Been there myself. The bottom line here, is that someone that's _that_ good might be open to the first option he gets wind of, and low and behold, this so-called option might not be so good, but it'll sure put things into perspective for him and line it all up right nice."

"Temptation," Buffy muttered. "Garden of Eden."

"A snake, if there ever was one. He gets to wear two faces. If you want to get into it a bit more biblically, you'll recall that Gilgamesh lost his immortality after a snake stole it away from him. Then there's old Ouroboros, who represents the symbol of a serpent who is in essence consuming his own tail. It was widely believed it presented a cycle that depicted the renewal of life. Some kind of return. Life, death, and a rebirth that would again lead to the path of immortality. What if what our guy returned as was a far cry from who he was, but he was still able to keep his human form when he needed it? Nobody would look twice at your everyday scholar when he chooses not to don his demonic makeup. They wouldn't be able to tell that he'd sold his soul to darker powers. I walk the streets as a man, but without my soul I'd have to contend with a demon corrupting my mind on a daily basis. I was able to subdue that demon for awhile before I sought out what I needed to push him back. He never really departed, though, and if it weren't for Rupes, I'd probably be bringin' him out to play a lot more than I'd like."

"So survey says that whatever baddie we're looking for seems to definitely fit the typical Darth Vader profile Lorne talked about."

"It does, which is why you need to be prepared. That might sound all stodgy and tweed wearin' with the occasional book readin' mixed in, but aside from weapons, you'll need to be somewhat capable of spells in the way of the dark arts. Not to practice 'em, of course, but counteract 'em if the situation should require it."

"Yeah, but I'm not a witch," she objected. "How am I supposed to hold my own when I never had those abilities in the-"

"You didn't have your slayer abilities for very long, either."

"Watchers should protect the slayer, though, right? Watch over her and make sure she knows what she's up against?"

"Well, before Watchers, they were called Shadow Men," he told her, remembering the files Calendar had given him on disc. "Over time they adapted, and weren't nearly as...primitive as they were before they formed the Council. By all accounts, they used a lot more magic than your average Watcher engages in nowadays since the ban. Slayers initially came into being when the Shadow Men took a young girl captive against her will and gave her strength through the heart and soul of a demon. If it is a Watcher and he tried doing that to himself, the outcome wouldn't be the same- especially if it was pure demon."

"He still thinks he's been reborn into a better body, though, doesn't he? It doesn't matter to him, because now nobody can take away what the Council did. He needs to show them he's better than slayers."

"Under normal circumstances all he'd have to do is find himself another idiot with a knack for destruction. But he still wants to be the mastermind behind his skill and requires the added power he gained to do it. Whether or not he's letting Rack live, obviously remains to be seen. But by all indications, I doubt he'd fancy the competition. Maybe you're right and he'll drain him. Not of blood, but of magicks."

"The Watchers would have written about you in their records," she pointed out.

"Which explains how he found me and knew I'd show up to the crime scene for Hart. It's still a game to him."

"Would you feel better if we had another go with the quarterstiff thingy?"

"Quarterstaff," he corrected, grinning.

"Same thing."

"In that case, I'd love to take you on again, Summers." His busted lip was throbbing like no tomorrow, but until the healing kicked in, he had to occupy himself somehow.

They went at it for the next half hour and despite being thoroughly satisfied with how she'd perfected her technique, he continued to find himself astonished by how well-matched they were in a fight. Granted, it wasn't a real fight, but he saw it as enough of a challenge to envision how it might have been had he taken her on when he was soulless and still hell bent on feeding off innocents. He was the very definition of a monster back then, and still he wondered if he would have spared her for her determination alone. It was all about the dance, and as it stood, she was becoming a bloody good partner in that dance.

She saw his moves before he made them and called him out on it in the way she wielded her staff, her clever fingers blocking nearly all of the blows he delivered as she put her all into it, catching him off guard twice more before he put an end to the mock showdown and picked up two stakes from inside the weapons chest. "Congratulations, slayer. You passed level one. And with flying colors, I might add."

"Yay for me. What's my prize?"

Spike's eyes nearly rolled back in his head when he thought about how he'd love nothing more than to slam her against the wall and take a prize of his own. But Giles' words of warning were a constant echo following the kiss he'd given her last night, and he continued to feel a slight pang of guilt for failing to show restraint in taking something he couldn't have. If there was even a slim possibility that he could, he wanted it to last and be far more than a quick shag against a concrete wall while his brain was out of commission and his dick overruled all logic. That speck of self-control he was still clinging to was hanging by a mere thread and he knew it could snap at any moment. _He_ could snap.

"Spike? Are you okay?"

"I'm gonna stand on the opposite side of the room and I want you to throw these and aim for the heart," he instructed.

"So you want me to try and kill you?" she asked, perplexed.

"They're made of plastic," he reminded her. "Pierce the heart clean through, but it won't kill me. 'Sides, I can think of worse ways to go, and those actually include a sodding pile of ash."

A throat cleared noisily from up above, and they both turned simultaneously to see Lorne at the top of the stairwell, his robe gone and replaced by a shiny red suit, light brown button down, and gray tie, his matching shoes giving off the same bright gleam. "As much as I'd love to see my immortal man muffin here used for an undead dart board, I think you two should come up and see the news first."

"What is it?" Spike queried.

"There's been another murder."


	11. Chapter 11: Mea Culpa

Chapter Eleven: Mea Culpa

10:36 AM

Rupert Giles carefully approached the yellow electronic barrier that surrounded the perimeter of the crowded apartment complex, shoving his hands deep within the pockets of his charcoal overcoat while he did his best to catch a glimpse of the crime scene unfolding several feet away, his expression exceedingly grim. The remaining bystanders, who were proving to be just as curiosity driven as himself, if not more so, were either huddled in groups chattering about the present state of disarray or struggling to crane their necks over the line without acquiring one hell of a painful headache. If the news report was any indication, the dots were currently in the process of connecting themselves, and it wouldn't be long before Jennifer Hart's murder made the rounds at the hands of a media wrought with greed.

The address of the building and the second victim were another matter altogether, and the names they had in common could either make or break the individual in question- not to mention the validity of the case. It's what he'd been afraid of since the nature of the Hart woman's demise had first been called to light. Rupert had feared something was terribly amiss when his secretary hadn't shown up for her shift a few hours ago, but never in his wildest imagination would he have dreamed he'd find her here.

In a body bag.

As it stood, Harmony Kendall had purportedly been murdered in the apartment of LAPD Homicide Detective William Pratt, and the police had received an anonymous tip leading them to the horrifying sight. She'd been drained of blood and had been found naked and unresponsive on the bed, her blue eyes gazing up at the ceiling and her lifeless form without a mark on her. There was no evidence that she'd tried defending herself from her attacker, although he surmised she must have at least known him- not to mention trusted him. It was identical to Joyce and Jennifer, and he would have gambled whatever he had left that the so-called tip the authorities had received had come from the killer himself. A need to gloat without actually being seen.

It was more than that, though. This time, whoever had done this had made it personal and was likely attempting to frame the occupant who lived here. An occupant who wasn't human. Of course, it could easily be argued that William had fallen head over heels in love with Elizabeth Summers, broke her out of jail, and became her accomplice shortly thereafter. She wouldn't be featured in any broadcast in relation to this. Not yet. But as soon as the details regarding Joyce's file fell into the wrong hands, he knew many theories were going to emerge as a result of it. What was more, a prisoner who had been entrusted into William's care hadn't been found in the building, and neither had the cop who'd been approved for a twenty-four hour furlough.

He needed to contact him.

"If you're looking for Pratt, he's not here."

Rupert glanced to his right and his gaze clashed with the brown eyes of Xander Harris, who was regarding him with a fairly unreadable expression, a manila folder cradled beneath his arm. "Yes, I, um, heard about what happened on the news. It's why I dropped by. I...assume you'll be sending an officer over later regarding the fact that she was under my employ?"

"Actually, I've got a few more pressing questions that have nothing to do with who Harmony worked for, and everything to do with the why and how of her ending up dead in my partner's loft. Oh, yeah, and that pesky little detail where he used to date her, too. Convenient, isn't it? I called the prison about twenty minutes ago, and low and behold, Buffy's not there. No sign of her. They said Spike never showed up and I'm thinking you might know a little about that. Guess I probably said way too much last night, which always seems to have this nasty habit of coming back to bite me in the ass."

"I haven't spoken to William since we left Jenny's place," Giles divulged, "but I can already assure you he didn't do this."

"Yeah, but I'm not his judge, jury and executioner. My word basically means jack once the top brass is brought in. This pretty much guarantees they'll be taking full control of the case."

"And while I've no doubt you've since reached some rather jarring conclusions of your own by this point, I would advise you to think more about this before you give them something that could quite possibly incriminate him. He's done more good than-"

"So it's true?"

"I suppose it would help if I knew precisely what the _it_ is that you're referring to."

Xander lowered his voice, as he grabbed the older man's elbow, pulling him discreetly to the side before he spoke. "Willow and I had planned on coming to see you before I got the call about Harmony. She said somebody left her a book and it had stuff about Pratt in there. It made it sound like he was some kind of _vampire_. You know, he who walks at night with big scary fangs in search of a tasty snack? She claims it was written by someone who had a firsthand account. Some guy who...believes he's some sort of teacher or something. But if that were real, if that...if _any_ of it were real, it would mean we're talking eighteen hundreds."

"Does she still have this book?"

"She put it in the safe in her office. She's under the impression that it's authentic. I didn't have the heart to tell her she dreams too much." He merely shook his head. "What I'm more concerned with is whether or not Harmony's body is gonna pull a vanishing act and decompose like Jennifer Hart and Joyce Summers. I mean the guy knows his stuff. It's like he's had this all mapped out since day one. Nobody would have looked twice at Harmony as the next victim. Nobody. She wasn't on our radar and her only connection was to Spike. Word has it he split with her amicably, but the wrong man with a badge gets wind of that and steps in on this and he might not see it that way."

"You've gone to great lengths to protect William, and yet you seem almost bothered by what he is."

"A vampire."

"Yes, exactly. If he were, mind you, I'm afraid I can't see you turning him in on behalf of the ban, as you're terribly confused enough for the both of us. He's worked long and hard to get where he is, and he enjoys it. It's quite therapeutic for him. I imagine it's also what continues to drive him and will in spite of what has occurred here today. He's a fighter, you see. Fighters are often utterly reckless in the choices they make, but they devote themselves selflessly to a cause if they feel it's worth saving. Perhaps William's spirit is what brings out the good in him and chooses to push on despite the ramifications of his past. He may have kept some things from you, but it only tells me he values your friendship a great deal to have done so."

"Look, when was the last time you saw Harmony?"

"She came to work on Monday and left at the end of her shift. I informed her I had to check out a bit early to see Jenny yesterday afternoon, but I distinctly remember glancing at Miss Kendall's login this morning after I'd arrived at the library. Everything was as it should be."

"So you really don't know if anybody approached her after you took off?"

"I hadn't even thought of it, no. She's not the brightest bulb in the box, but she's more than capable of managing while I'm out."

"Uh huh, and did she say anything about maybe meeting anyone or-"

"I was under the impression she'd reconciled with a chap named Morty, but other than that, I'm honestly not sure."

"Well, seeing as this Morty's the same guy who socked Spike the night we found Jennifer, I think they've still got him in holding because he couldn't post bail. He's your typical stalker type with a sprinkle of assault thrown in, but according to his record, that's about as far as it goes. He's still behind bars, which automatically takes him out of the running for murderer of the year."

"Has William been answering his cellular?"

"No," Xander murmured, "so if you've somehow got some other way you can reach him, G-Man, come on down and be my guest."

"I do, although I would appreciate it ever so kindly if you never call me that again."

"Not a problem. I'm just worried about him. As clever as this Merlin dude is, you have to wonder if he killed her first and transported the body here postmortem. Unless of course she met him here because she thought she was meeting Pratt. He could've performed one of his master spells to sound like him. It's possible, right? After what I've witnessed these past few days, I can't say any of it would surprise me in the least. The weird thing is, the only fingerprints they found up there are Buffy's, and those guys are good. They're really thorough. You wouldn't think anybody even lived there if it weren't for all the furniture and stuff."

"The undead don't leave fingerprints, Xander."

He stared at two men loading a body bag onto a stretcher, lifting it easily into the back of an ambulance as they slapped the doors shut behind them. "Then why does he bother wearing gloves when he-"

"It's standard procedure for officers of the law to wear proper attire when investigating a crime scene, is it not? William does what he can to fit in and he does it well. Aside from his, shall we say, enhanced abilities, he's not all that different from you and I. He may wish he were a man, but his unique circumstances make it impossible for it to ever be. It likely means the world to him that you see him in this way, and he complies with what he has to in order to do his job."

"I get that you believe that, I do. But there's that whole daylight angle and hey- I've seen the guy eat real food. Human food! You can't convince me vampires dig buffets over blood because it's just not happening. No way he'd take a burger and fries over some girl's neck. Okay, maybe if the burger was extra rare, but-"

"I'd advise you to tell Willow to move her book to a more secure location, as whoever lent it to her will want it back."

"I'm not hearing this, I'm really not. You can't just drop all of this on a guy in two days and expect him to jump for geeker joy at the prospect of vampires being real. I shouldn't even be listening to this. My partner and the girl he whisked away from prison will be wanted for murder before the day is out and I'm about to plead insanity. Meanwhile, over in the land of rainbows, talking clouds and imaginary people, that partner's a vampire and I saw him get shot in the line of duty once and there's still a missing bullet."

"Perhaps he fled from here at just the right moment. Whoever is responsible for this is obviously becoming desperate."

"Yeah, he wants Buffy and he wants her bad. The thing is, we still don't know what's so special about her yet. He wants her out of the picture, but there's nothing-"

"Let me get a hold of William and I'll get back to you."

"You better." Xander briefly acknowledged a uniform who'd been struggling to get his attention for a good five minutes. "Someone might be coming by the library later for some follow-up questions. I can try to make it me, but I still have to finish up here. Her parents have been notified and they're supposed to drop by to make a proper identification. Willow's already on that, so no trouble there. It's not so much that we even need it, but like it or not, it's the norm. I'm especially not looking forward to answering to Captain Jenkins, because the skinny is that has it she's brought Commander Snyder in and that's a whole other ball game. If I were you, I would not get me started."

Giles cracked a small smile as he professed a quick nod in response. "Yes, I've...heard he's a man of few words."

"How about no words? All he does is glare. Or so I've- well, you know, I've never actually met the guy and now I'm not really sure I want to. It's one thing to have someone give you the evil eye who's not really evil, but knowing there's evil out there that probably has an evil eye, too, is just a heck of a lot to process right now."

"I imagine it would be."

"Does Buffy...does she know what he is?"

"She does," he confirmed. "Although, it was likely in his best interest to confess to her if he expects to keep her alive. I was skeptical of it myself at first, but she seems to have adapted quite well."

"Why do I still get the sense you're not telling me everything here?"

"Maybe because I'm not, but that's hardly your concern. And while I don't believe you'll be able to do it for long, I'd very much like it if you could keep Joyce out of this while it's feasible to do so. The poor woman left us seven years ago and I will not have her name dragged through the mud on account of some rabid FBI vulture intent on dredging up all her daughter has lost."

"Wow, so there's a backstory there, too. We'll have to catch up some time and do lunch."

Giles only rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately, that won't be today. It is, however, imperative that we stick together and refrain from allowing certain pertinent information to fall into immoral hands."

"There's nothing immoral about it, love. I did what I had to." Spike Pratt aimed the remote at the television propped above the bar and turned it off with a flick of his wrist, angling himself toward the woman who sat on the stool next to him, still clothed in her training wardrobe. Against his better judgment, they'd been following the around the clock coverage of Harmony Kendall's death since Lorne had alerted them to it, and on top of repeatedly trying to reassure her, he couldn't deny the sick feeling of dread that had enveloped him upon learning where they'd found her- let alone the way in which she'd died.

"Yeah, and it's all because of me. If you never came to see me that day and just left me alone, we wouldn't be having this conversation and your ex wouldn't be about to disappear on some slab somewhere in the morgue. He's not even giving us the luxury of waiting until they're in their coffins anymore, Spike. He used your apartment to kill her and to frame you for her murder. How the hell is that okay? You gave up your life for me and you don't even-"

"I don't even what?" he shot back, as he rose to his feet, his arms planting themselves across his chest. "Let's not forget that you're a bloody fugitive now, pet, and if it weren't for me they could've easily tagged you for this. Would've been a mite worse had you still been in prison, 'cuz there's that so-called copycat theory you ran by me when we met. Accomplice, impersonator, someone who admired the handiwork you did on your mum. The possibilities don't stop there. I think you're innocent, but most of the sodding world thinks you're guilty. They think you've got it written all over your forehead in thick black ink."

"But they've all been drained of their blood. The cops have yet to find a single drop of it at the crime scenes, and even if were due to whatever kind of magic he's using, where's it all going? Where are what's left of the bodies going when they disappear? It just doesn't-"

"You're starting to wonder if there's something else at work here," the vampire reasoned, nodding. "Can't deny that it's crossed my mind, too. You think someone else is in on this and you've eliminated Rack from the short list."

"Rack was just a scare tactic. He's too smart to use someone so stupid. Rack would expect something out of it, and our guy doesn't see himself giving it to him. Not when there's more at stake- no pun intended, of course."

"I see where you're coming from loud and clear, sweet bit, and no offense taken."

"Hey, were there ever any women Watchers?"

He definitely adored this girl. She went from one thing to the next without even blinking. "Not since the ban went into effect. Something about them basically being witches with an education or some such. Probably due to the level of magic they practiced when it was still permitted. Council couldn't take the risk."

"That is so sexist."

"Not about to dispute that. Personally, I think most of 'em were just jealous that they lacked the proficiency themselves."

"Yeah, but what I _really_ don't get is how we were able to make with the fancy fighting downstairs without Lorne's alarm thingy going off on us."

He tilted his head and smiled, amused at the seamless way in which she'd altered the subject yet again, the frustration evident upon her creased brow as she paused to take a sip from the glass of water perched on the wood surface in front of her. "Right, so we're back to that now, are we?"

"We so very much are," Buffy agreed. "You told me some Furies put this spell on the place so whoever comes inside can't go all ninja with the hitting and kicking."

"I did, but two thousand dollars later and he managed to meet my request. Which I made well before we got here, by the way. I asked for that room a couple months ago to do a bit of training of my own in. He was havin' some trouble gettin' it by 'em and the price doubled."

"Oh, and I suppose the ones who get in and try to cause trouble suddenly forget once they're booted out or leave?"

"On the money, dollface." Lorne entered with a tray of hot and spicy chicken wings, the savory aroma permeating the air around them, as he carefully set them down beside Spike's container of blood. He reached behind him and grabbed two plates and a stack of napkins off the counter. "Eat up, kids. It's on the house and we're closed for the day."

"But I don't practice magic and I could still see it. I don't have one of those gadget thingies, either."

"You're the slayer, therefore it's all relative. Which, by the way, even if you weren't, I'd have known you were on your way ahead of time and made it visible. Any friend of this guy is a friend of mine."

"Buffy's convinced it's her fault Harmony's out of commission," Spike retorted, helping himself to five of the wings and licking the sauce from his fingers with relish. "Bird wasn't too bright, though, and probably walked right into his little trap."

"I never did like her," he mused, shrugging. "Always struck me as the kind that had no lights on upstairs, if you know what I mean. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but in the long run, it could be what eventually got her killed. But then again, who am I to talk, right? I own and operate a demon bar under the noses of a thousand fools and take pleasure in getting away with it."

"If it's any consolation, mate, this somewhat illegal demon bar of yours still carries the best wings in the sodding city."

"So glad I haven't lost my touch. But in other, more pressing matters in the general vicinity of Earth, some wacko is killing people and we need to stop him. As much as I enjoy the company of you two lovelies, I don't want you here forever."

"Harmony wasn't a slayer, so we can rule that out," Buffy volunteered. "Both her and Jennifer Hart were played to get to something bigger. In Jennifer's case, it was because of Jenny Calendar and the anniversary. He knows that underneath all of the yelling and screaming Jenny does with Giles, they really truly care about each other. And Harmony, as much as I hate to admit this, was with Spike for awhile, and it's safe to imply they got along fine in and out of the bedroom. What better way to toss that back in his face?"

"Bugger that," Spike muttered. "Would it really hurt to throw me a bone here?"

"In the bedroom, yes. In your chicken wings, no."

"Right then." He consumed the meat off the last wing on his plate and dabbed at his lips with a napkin. "I was in a need of a quick fix and she was available. I had a cramp and she gave me some...relief. Problem solved. It doesn't justify datin' her when it was almost purely physical between us, but I've moved beyond that now. I've grown."

"The only thing that grew was the cramp in your pants," Buffy insisted, "and guys think they deserve way too much credit for that stuff, anyway."

"On behalf of the male race, demonic or not, she does have a point," Lorne intervened, his mouth unable to hold back a slight smirk.

"One great big loss for Team Spike, one giant leap for Buffy Summers."

"I was with Drusilla for years before she turned on me, and if weren't for that ponce Angelus-"

"You'd still be without a soul, because you wouldn't have a reason for getting it," Lorne added. "Be grateful you moved on, friend. She was a dark beauty, no question. But if I'm gonna be frank, also not all that and a bag of potato chips. Buffy's got the three B's- aside from her name, that is, which is just a pleasant bonus. Beauty, brains and brawn. It isn't often that you come across a woman who has all of those in spades. How about never? If you're really not thinking with Spike Jr. ninety-nine percent of the time, you might wanna look into that."

"Yeah, she's a real peach," he quipped as he poured some blood into a glass.

"By the way, are either of you familiar with an Agent Kate Lockley, because from what they're saying now, it appears she and her team have just weeded out the rats and taken over your case."

"Lockley, Lockley..." Spike repeated. "Sounds like that chippie who caught the big break in the Lonely Heart murders a good few months back. Won a prestigious award or some rot like that. Haven't really been keepin' track, but if it's one and the same, she's a hell of a tough cop."

"Lonely Heart murders?" Buffy repeated, scrunching up her nose. "Was that about that super creepy website?"

"Guess you really _have_ been in prison too long, love."

"Not funny."

"Wasn't supposed to be. Anyway, Lonely Heart was this case that went unsolved for a good three years before Lockley brought in some new evidence and took her own little stab at solvin' it. Like your mum, it was fairly high profile. Several patrons of a trendy singles bar called D'Oblique were killed by a burrower. It's a demon that eviscerates from within and moves from body to body 'til it can find the perfect host. Unfortunately, it targeted humans and couldn't sustain life in any of 'em for too long. Hence your grisly murders. Turns out, this burrower went and found its way into the body of the guy who bartended there. Lockley caught him tryin' to lure some poor young thing outside one night to take her home and put two and two together. She'd been workin' the joint undercover. Granted, this wanker wasn't at all himself when he attempted to move in for the kill, but that was all she needed to make the arrest. Burrowers fear fire and for good reason. Amidst the struggle, he was knocked into a barrel with fire coming out of it. Kate finished him off by putting a few bullets in him. Never did see him for what he was, but she got her guy."

"I still don't understand why the FBI practically bent down on their boney knees and begged for that one," Lorne countered, curling his brows into a perplexed state. "They wouldn't have believed it even if they'd seen it, trust me. Miss Mighty Morphin would've gotten her bra in a snap and ran screaming all the way down that alley full speed. She wasn't ready for it, and God knows if she'll ever be. I just hope she realizes what she's getting herself into with this mega whacked sicko who's got a vendetta against slayers."

"Harris is probably at his wit's end right about now."

"Oh, that's putting it mildly, pastry puff. Something tells me you can't just play hide and seek while he's out there taking the rap for this. You have to drag your feet and get some action- no matter how much it kills you. I know, I know, you're already dead as a doornail, but you really should consider-"

"Can't show myself when I'm already in the lineup, can I?" he contravened. "Can't be locked away when I'm supposed to be out there fightin' the good fight. There's little hope to appeal to this Lockley to get her on our side."

"I thought she was already on our side?" Buffy inquired, as she brought a few more wings onto her plate, easily helping herself to the last three.

"She's on _her_ side," Spike corrected. "There's a difference, Goldilocks. Her father worked for the Feds before he retired, and the story goes that he had this mantra he drilled into her at an early age on tunin' out the emotions and protecting herself at whatever the cost. She doesn't get involved on a personal level, but favors the grunt work. Thinks it makes her stronger and better in her field."

"Emotions make us who we are," Lorne put in. "If this woman expects to get by on her drive alone, she won't last long on the case. But if she's a digger, I'd worry. A lot of stuff disappeared after the ban, but search real hard, and you'll come up with a gold mine."

"Wouldn't that make her a gold-digger then?" Buffy offered, trying hard not to smother a laugh.

"Knew there was a sense of humor in there somewhere."

"Yeah, I'm sure Lockley'll go and have herself a bleeding good guffaw when her new obsession with the supernatural take a sour turn and prompts her to sign herself into a mental institution. When your views are so severely limited, there's nowhere else to go but off the grid." He flinched when the backup micro cell sitting snugly in his ear began chiming to the appropriate ring tone, hurriedly activating it without a second thought. "What took you so long, Rupes?"

"Where are you, William?"

"Is it any wonder you never became a detective, gramps?"

"There are police at your home. Harmony Kendall was found murdered in your flat this morning. I find it awfully hard to believe you know nothing about this, when-"

"Take it down a notch, will you? I've been following it since it happened. I apologize if I can't keep any appointments we may have had today, but I don't exactly make it my pleasure in life to get caught and taken into custody when I was sworn to serve and protect. How's Calendar?"

"She's quite well. She's...considering what she's been through, she's doing an excellent job of bothering me about my laundry and composing a schedule for my meals. I'm not entirely averse to the prospect, but I don't exactly fancy taking orders from an unwanted houseguest. Namely one that I'm no longer with in an obvious romantic capacity."

"So you gave me a buzz to let me know how much she pushes your buttons and what you're havin' for dinner?"

"No, I- Xander's here. I met up with him at the crime scene a bit beforehand, and he kindly informed me he might be stopping by to ask a few more questions. I know you'd much rather forget, but Harmony was in fact working for me before she died and it's fairly critical to their investigation."

"The FBI's investigation."

"I'm sorry, I truly am. But he's since told me he had nothing to do with them moving in on your case. Miss Jenkins isn't exactly thrilled with it, either, from what I hear. She has to answer to Commander Snyder and Xander's meeting with them later. I'll put him on."

"Thanks ever so," Spike drawled.

"Got a riddle for you, buddy."

"Nice to hear from you, too, Harris."

"What do you call a reanimated corpse who digs himself out of his grave and enjoys the taste of blood from helpless, unsuspecting females? I'll give you three guesses before I jump in with one of my own."

Spike cringed, as he stepped away from Buffy and Lorne, heading toward the basement stairwell. Shutting the door behind him, he sat himself on the top stop, propping his chin beneath his hands. "I'll save you the trouble of those three guesses and say vampire."

"Go easy on me because I'm still in the beginner stages of acceptance here, but why the freaking hell didn't you ever tell me?"

"Giles apparently already took care of it, so what more do you bloody want?"

"Willow was the recipient of some nifty gift giving in the morgue, and somebody left her a whopper of a good book in there. If you're the same William the Bloody who's in that book, the old man next to me thinks it's wise to hide it and keep it out of David Copperfield's magical paws. But seeing as our suspect is probably the one who hand delivered it, all bets are off."

"So you want to terminate our partnership, is that it? Spike isn't good enough to run with the likes of Xander Harris anymore 'cuz he discovered he's got a real knack for plasma. Yeah, all right, fine. I accept your resignation. Anything else?"

"Whoa, way to jump the gun! I wasn't making it my goal in life to bust your balls, man. I just wanted you to know I'm behind you, okay? Well, a bit further back if we're still dealing with monsters and spells and stuff, but you get the drift, right?"

"You mean that? This isn't just some- you're really not toyin' with me here?"

"I hope you're not crying like a baby, Pratt, because then I'll just have to hug you harder when I see you. Nobody messes with friends of the Xandman, and that's a fact. But on the other hand, you did just flee with a prisoner who was serving out her sentence in a high security facility and the law is pretty much demanding you return her before they prosecute you for breaking said law. I know neither you nor Buffy had anything to do with Harmony's death, but whoever set you up is making it awfully difficult for the FBI to cut you any leeway there. I'm doing everything I can to slow things down, but unless you tell me where you are..."

"Seems to be the popular question, doesn't it?"

"Big yep. Besides that, we really need to have a chat in person so I can get the four one one on what it feels like to be Mr. Walking Undead in a society where they've nearly gone extinct. Giles has been quite the tattler this afternoon. You're basically one of a kind, Pratt. I was thinking I could start calling you soul man. How about it?"

"I think you should take that back before I contemplate tearing out your innards and feeding 'em to wild dogs."

"Such a smooth talker."

"I've had years of practice, what's your excuse?"

"Don't have one. Listen, get me an address and we'll meet halfway. You can pick the spot. You don't have to tell me exactly where you are if you think it'll compromise-"

"Bar called Caritas. Rupert knows where it is. Bring Rosenberg too if you want, but if I so much as sniff an FBI agent on you, we're over."

"_Yeah_ that's really gross, but I haven't actually been that close to one myself yet to distinguish the difference."

"Bloody disgusting is what it is."

"Say hi to your girlfriend for me."

He uttered a quick "bugger off" before disconnecting.


	12. Chapter 12: A Brief Interlude

Note: This chapter is a bit different from the others and more or less gets inside the antagonist's head for a little while. The one following this will return you to your regularly scheduled programming. Thanks so much to those of you who've supported this fic thus far. :)

Chapter Twelve: A Brief Interlude

1:14 PM

He watched.

They used to tell him it was the only thing he was good at.

Watching. To watch. It was what he'd been paid to do. Granted, he'd been awarded such a measly sum for so great a task, but they'd trusted him to protect the charge assigned to him at all costs. Setting aside his reservations, he taught himself to bypass the constant nagging inside his head and reluctantly complied. He dutifully went along with and followed their pointless regulations and their ridiculous rules, and thought the animosity he secretly harbored toward their organization would fade in time. After all, he'd worked his ass off to be one of them. To fit in for once in his life.

And he almost hadn't made the cut.

He was thoroughly convinced it was out of sheer luck that fate had stepped in to approve his request when they'd nearly dismissed his appeals altogether. It was fate that had given him such a pleasant outcome and put him right where he needed to be. Unbeknownst to him at the time, everything he'd applied himself to in order to gain that acceptance, that merciless and prodigious desire to belong, to...become one of them, would be irrevocably shattered the day he met her.

She was strong and beautiful and innocent. She was pure. She was all of the things he'd never felt worthy of himself. She represented truth, while he'd been drowning himself in a thousand lies.

He'd been older than her by almost a decade. To him, she should've been nothing more than a child. But when he looked at her, he saw a young woman who carried an age old grace. A maturity. According to the men he worked for, it didn't matter. It wouldn't ever matter, because it was ceremoniously frowned upon and considered an indelible offense if he neglected the obligation to his job and refused to act in a professional manner throughout the duration of their time together. They wouldn't hesitate to let him go and assign someone else if he crossed any of those lines. Someone they felt could've handled it with a great deal more competence. Someone who wouldn't feel compelled to take what apparently wasn't theirs to take.

After all, the girls belonged to no one. They'd simply been chosen against their will to fight a darkness that would always threaten to consume. A darkness that had reached out to him on numerous occasions before he'd finally answered its call. By then he'd pretty much reconciled the notion that all hope was lost. He'd never be purged of his sins until he surrendered a part of himself. Until he surrendered his soul. It was all so easy. He could finally say he belonged and mean it. A higher power had intervened on his behalf and taken him home. It had shown him the path he should've taken. A path that was so far from where she'd led him. Tempted him.

He wasn't supposed to let weakness undermine his strength, and he most certainly wasn't supposed to embrace the frivolous ramblings of a lovesick fool. His feelings had played so savagely with his heart until he no longer felt like he had one. But that blackness had saved him. It had enveloped him in its essence and given him the salvation he so desperately sought. It had washed all of his pain away and provided him relief and a new purpose- freeing him from inevitable torment. He no longer blamed himself anymore after that and became devoted to his cause. A more productive cause. The organization had failed him, stripped him of what had made him human and had torn away the fabric of the only reality he ever knew.

They'd left him to bleed, so he'd made a choice.

He'd still wept for her even after the change. It had seemed wrong not to, as the tragic end to her short life was the precise moment at which his began. He was a monster and she was dead. The men he'd respected and held in the highest regard had betrayed him and denied him her affections, allowing her to perish at their expense. They'd humiliated her and deprived her of explanation- degraded her in the most horrifying of ways. In turn, he vowed to make each of them suffer, taking what they'd held most dear and crushing it. Destroying everything they stood for and tainting it with the magicks they'd always renounced and spat upon, unleashing them when they were at their utmost vulnerable.

There would be others like her, of course. Some of them never survived their first battle, while others met their demise at the hands of their demonic counterparts the first night out. It was always simpler that way. It meant that those closely connected to them would be spared and they wouldn't be viewed as a threat. He wouldn't have to use them to draw her out. He wouldn't have to apply force if she died while in the line.

The origins by which the girls had gained their abilities should have been immediate grounds for dismissal once the Council established a more secure headquarters, evolving from the men they'd once been when the slayer's existence had initially been forged at the expense of a demon. They were never meant to be. Lives had been sacrificed and yet their numbers had continued to grow. He knew that once he rid the world of one, there would just be another. But not after the most current. Not after her. She had been his work in progress. The one that got away. After her, there would be none. The contract had seen to that, and he intended in keeping up his end of the bargain, spilling his own blood to sign it.

When the world had turned its back on magic completely and implemented the ban, many of the demons and vampires that had once roamed free no longer had the luxury, as their notorious guilty pleasures were punishable by law once the proper authorities had cornered the masses and made the Council sitting ducks. Naturally, they continued to train and prep the girls, but the threat was considerably less. Anything that wasn't human was supposed to be contained, and anyone who was and sustained the practice wasn't offered any mercy. Not all of them had been caught, though. As it stood, he prided himself on being another one of the something else's out there that was smarter and more advanced to have dodged such a bullet.

Good prevailed and triumphed over evil, but it would not always be so. Forces were aligning, gaining ground. And he was ready to lead them.

He always knew who would be next. Always knew which girl was going to receive the gift she'd much rather return, and which one of them would be chosen once she breathed her last breath. The prophecy, on the other hand, was something else entirely. It was always the same. No matter how many times he'd picked and prodded and done his research like a good boy, it was always the same. What he hadn't anticipated, however, was the fact that the vampire he'd ingeniously baited had taken a very personal interest in his current subject, ignoring what he was and what he'd likely always been.

William the Bloody had been his way in. After seven years of waiting and failing to breach the level of protection holding her at bay, he was willing to sit back and let someone else do his dirty work for him. What he hadn't been able to accomplish, try as he might, was sever the ties William had to those that encouraged his passionate display of allegiance. His...friends. It was a foreign concept, even for a vampire. It was widely reputed they traveled with their own kind or with no one at all. Most preferred to work alone. The humanity still present in this one was baffling. He yearned to rid him of it. Counter the protection spell and reacquaint him with the demon inside his body.

And he would. Soon.

He advanced through a long hallway smothered in shadow, stopping at a door to his left and waving a hand over the lock, a satisfying smile creeping up over his features as he opened it. The figure who occupied the cell was crouched on the floor, her back against the wall, her eyes showing signs of glaring fatigue. She struggled a bit with the chains clamped tight around her ankles, binding her to the wall behind her and holding her there with no means of escape. "I doubt your afternoon was as eventful as mine, but in the...small sliver of a possibility that it was, I'd very much like to hear about it. I never could pass up a good story, and it just so happens yours is about to get so much more interesting." He knelt beside her, careful to put a fair amount of distance between them, his British inflection filled with a kind of amusement as he spoke. "We're getting closer, you know. So much closer to where we need to be. It's going to be quite a show, and I'd be honored if you survived long enough to see the fireworks."

"Go to hell, you son of a bitch. I have nothing to say to you." She cautiously drew her frail body up into a standing position, balancing herself on bare feet riddled with calluses and cuts, her face caked with layers of dirt. "Leave me alone."

"Oh, you wound me, dear lady. You truly wound me. You see, I'm not always this generous. The magicks I pulled off that night were far beyond the scope of anything I've ever done. They took so much from me and I spent the years that followed replenishing them. You remember that, don't you? It's awfully hard to forgive that sort of thing. However, bygones will ultimately be bygones, and you must know that I did it for you. I did it all for you, because I still need _her_. Once she's dead, no more shall rise. She was to be the last and she will be. When I have her, you're free. If that's not cause for celebration, I don't know what is." He laughed and drew himself up, taking a step in the opposite direction, his hands clasped and placed casually in front of him. "I believe I'll have a little fun with her first, though. She's cost me seven years, and if you'll pardon the pun, it's been awhile since I've had a good slay. Rumor has it she's already given it up plenty for those chaps in prison, and I'd honestly enjoy a go or two with her myself. I'm sure she'll have a lot of stamina and make her mother proud. Perhaps you can even watch."

"Stay away from her."

"So, so late for that, I'm afraid."

"But she's done nothing to you! Whatever it is that you-"

"She's a slayer!" he snapped. "Underneath it all, a slayer is nothing more than a whore. They lure and they tease and they provoke. They were created to defend this world and yet they break under the whim of love. They're vile and worthless and they pollute the core of the Earth. Evil shouldn't have to hide away. It needs to breathe."

"You put her away for something that never happened! She's just a girl and you robbed her of her life. You let her believe that- you let them take her. They took her away." She sunk to the ground again, dejectedly burying her head within the comfort of her arms as she rested them upon her knees, shaking a bit as she sobbed. "My Buffy. My sweet Buffy. I wish to God it had been me instead."

"Well, God isn't in right now, but I never said I wasn't taking requests."

"Why don't you just kill me? I asked you. When you took me, I asked. I begged, I...you wouldn't, though. You wouldn't do it."

"I've never denied you the right to food or water, have I? I've made sure to keep you alive and provide for you."

"Kill me. Just end it. Please."

"I can't compromise when I've got a plan," he retorted. "You're part of that plan. I just need you to sit tight until I get what I want, and what I _want_ is your daughter. Now, I apologize if this in any way inconveniences you, but I was under the impression I was quite forthcoming about this the moment I brought you here. I thought we understood each other back then." He smirked then, as he appeared to stare ahead at nothing in particular, his green eyes void of empathy. "I almost had her in the woods, you know. That vampire came to her rescue just as I was getting warmed up. Such a pity he's been removed from the investigation altogether on suspicion of murder. He pulled her out of that facility, mind you, so it's not as if I don't have anything to be thankful for this Christmas. But however unfortunate the circumstances, his job is done. I'll find him again- both of them. You can be sure of it. When I do, it's safe to say the words exchanged between us will be few."

"If she is what you say she is, she'll fight. My baby will fight."

"I have no doubt of that," he murmured. "Actually, I'm rather looking forward to it. She's a product of something that never should've been permitted to exist in the first place. You may feel for her because she remains of the same flesh and blood you are, but deep down...deep down she's nothing more than a mistake. A mistake I need to rectify. You know it's true. It pains you to say it or even think it, but you know."

"It's not."

"Nothing can change what she is, Joyce. What she'll always be. You should get used to that, because this is far from over. Grab a front row seat and relax. When I'm done, you won't even recognize her. Think about that while you're rotting away down here and ask yourself if the Lord will ever shed penance on you for your failure to protect her as a mother."


	13. Chapter 13: Beyond Belief

Chapter Thirteen: Beyond Belief

_Caritas_

2:19 PM

"You weren't born with it, were you?"

"Born with it?"

"Yeah, like some kind of...bizarre condition or something."

Spike merely rolled his eyes as he lit the cigarette dangling from his lips, lazily taking a moment to savor it before he professed a slight smirk in his friend's direction, his blues plagued with amusement. "No." He studied the tips of his boots and shook his head. " 'Sides, if that were at all possible, and I'm not- look, either way, I'd still be in bloody diapers, you nit, so what's your point?"

"No point, really." Xander only shrugged, placing his hands over his hips as he studied the steady stream of traffic from the back door of the bar. To anyone else, it probably just looked like two guys talking in the middle of nowhere- which was exactly what he'd thought when Giles had pointed it out to him. "I guess I just keep forgetting about that part where you guys don't age."

"Havin' a bit of trouble wrapping your head around it, are you?"

"You could say that," he conceded almost nervously. "I mean I get that Lorne's always been what he is and everything, and that's fine. It's okay. I'm down with it. He's actually a pretty cool dude. But all of this stuff about demons, magic, shields, and now _vampires_? Little slow processing it up here." Tapping a finger to his temple, he grinned. "At least I know why you don't give a crap about the smokes now. All this time I was convinced you'd be suffering a heart attack before we turned forty and your heart doesn't actually beat. How about that, huh?"

Spike took another drag and expelled the smoke, subtly raising his brows. "The fact that I passed forty before you were conceived might have something to do with it, too."

"If we're counting vamp years, sure. Can't argue with that."

"S'pose not. Look, if it's any consolation, I'm glad you came. I thought once you heard, you'd book it and be on your merry way. This isn't exactly on the level of Anya being her usual degrading self over dinner, and even when the bird's at her worst, she's a lot better to take than I am."

"It's that bad?"

"Well, it's certainly not all moonbeams and penny whistles, if that's what you're askin'. Most people don't understand the pull. They don't have the constant thirst for blood that vampires do. It can be overwhelming before you learn to control it. And it's always there, you know? Just waitin' to drag you back in if you slip up."

"Enter the infamous ban," he commented. "Lorne said it wasn't just about the humans."

"Oh, right," Spike added, his voice dripping with sarcasm, " 'cuz humans were such big bads in a world populated by demons. The men in charge might have convinced you they were, but it's all just smoke and mirrors again. No one wants to believe monsters are real, Harris. After all, you're the perfect advocate in that fight for sodding normalcy, aren't you? Found it near to impossible to accept what you weren't ready for 'til you saw it with your own two eyeballs." He drew in smoke one last time before he threw his cigarette to the ground and stomped on it, quelling the tiny flame. "But yeah. You won't find the beasties sharing a cozy cell with your usual suspects. Security is probably past the legal limit where they are, too. Once your...desire to kill overpowers the need to do good, there's no coming back from that. Demons are essentially the equivalent of full blown witchcraft here. Their sentence is a bit more severe than the practicing humans."

"So how'd you get past the big guys?"

"I was careful. Can't spot a vampire if they don't act like one, can you? Made it a rule of thumb." He ran a hand through his blonde curls, tussling them a bit. "Calendar went and made me a ring to combat that irksome daylight problem, and I've always had an odd craving for human food. Forged a few credentials, too. Happen to know a bloke who's handy with that sort of thing. Wasn't really much of a stretch."

"Can I see your other face? The one that-"

"No."

"Hey, that's cool. You, uh, don't by any chance sleep in a coffin, though, right? I mean, you don't look like a guy who sleeps in a coffin."

"Coffins are for those sissy Dracula types. Prefer a nice comfy bed myself."

"And the women. Do you..."

"Bite them?" he drawled. "No, but I used to."

"Are you trying to tell me it doesn't tempt you anymore?" Xander pressed, giving his friend a bit of a leer. "Not even the really hot ones?"

"You watch too many movies, Harris. I'd suggest gettin' out more, but I doubt it would help curb all that brain matter from leakin' out of your noggin."

"Hey, that's fair, that's- well, it's just that I've got so much to learn yet, you know? My partner is a vampire who sleeps in a bed, has sex with women he doesn't bite, and can be out during the day without bursting into flames. You also have a church bell ringtone on your micro- which, by the way, you must have ditched, because I couldn't get a hold of you after we talked last night. The only thing I can think is that it must be some kind of weird redemption thing."

Spike itched for a second cigarette as he breathed a sigh he didn't need. "Weird redemption thing?"

"C'mon, Pratt. Wake up and smell the freaking garlic. Vampires aren't regular churchgoers! They'd rather snack on a priest than listen to his sermons. Plus, they have crosses and holy water there, for crying out loud. It's common sense, man."

"Bleeding painful, both of 'em," he agreed. "Thank God I've been blessed with the miraculous ability to heal."

"More sarcasm, terrific."

"Well, as overcome with joy as I am by your version of twenty questions, I know that you, Rupert, and Red didn't just drop by to discuss the weather. So spill it already and be done with it, yeah?"

"Spill it?" Xander returned.

"What's your take on this FBI chit? Imagine you've been properly introduced by now. Our upstanding commander would have already seen to that. I need a bit more info on what I've got to look forward to."

"If I were to sum it all up and go for the gold, I'd say she makes Anya seem like Little Bo Peep. You haven't lost your badge yet, but Lockley claims she'll be closing in on you real soon. She wants to have a chat, one on one. Those credentials you mentioned are about to be deep fried and sautéed with a pinch of salt if she gets her hands on them- and you can bet she will. She's just that good."

"She may be good," he muttered, "but I'm better. Let her poke and prod for awhile. I'm more interested in this book you and Rosenberg stumbled across."

"Oh, yeah, that. Willow's got it inside. From what Giles told us, it appears to be some sort of Watcher deal. Kind of like a diary?"

"Well, that'd do a bloody good job of explaining why I'm in it. Fits with the angle Buffy and I were trading words about in the basement earlier."

"I heard about that. You're going all Bruce Lee on her now and getting her ready for the uber showdown. Or possibly just an excuse to look all manly in her presence. It's a real toss-up. But either way, it seems to be working, because she's tougher than the last time I saw her."

"She is, yeah. But we've only just started the training." He distractedly reached for another cigarette and set it ablaze, dropping his lighter and what remained of the pack into his coat pocket. "She's a fast learner, though. Got the quarterstaffs out earlier and went at it a bit, but she held her own. Picks up stuff right quick and she's adorable doing it. Has this little hair flip that she's probably not even aware of, too. I just- _what_?"

"My therapist would have a field day with you."

"And just what in the buggering hell does that mean?"

"Okay, so he would if I had one," he added. "It's a classic case. You're so far gone over her, Pratt. She's practically got you completely whipped. You used to be one of the biggest badasses I know, and now you're all Mr. Softy. Girls never used to bug you this much. You'd give them the old heave-ho before they could get the chance."

"You and Rupert have got to stop comparin' notes and airing out your dirty laundry together."

"Well, as far as girls go, she's-"

"She isn't like the others, you ponce. She's-"

"Buffy?"

"A slayer," he ground out.

"Ah, yeah. Finally got the what's what on that, too. You're still reeling from the fact that you'll live forever and she'll be old and wrinkly by the time she's seventy despite her being Wonder Woman. Got it. _Great_ excuse to keep you from ripping her clothes off and having your wicked way with her."

"Vampires and slayers aren't exactly in the business of gettin' chummy with one another, let alone horizontal," Spike retorted, frowning. "They're not friends and it's common knowledge that they'll never _be_ friends. If she'd met me well aware of who she was supposed to become and was on her way to embracing it, we'd be fightin' it to the death right now instead of tryin' to clear her name. That neat little tidbit about me havin' a soul would hardly make a difference when she's been conditioned to kill my kind. I've thought about changin' the rules more times than I can count, but Rupert's remained real firm on where he stands on that. He and I had it out at Calendar's and he's still in the gray area about Buffy. 'Sides, it's not all about scoring a quickie, Harris."

"It was before," he noted eagerly. "If she wasn't the girl she is, you'd have had her lying flat on her back the day you pulled her out of prison."

"Not likely, you wanker. Told you I don't play that game anymore, and I meant it."

"All jokes aside, have you given it some more thought with taking her back to the crime scene?" he inquired curiously.

"Don't reckon I'd get past all of those Feds doing their utmost best to hang around the place and drive me bleeding crazy. Tough bridge to cross."

"It doesn't have to be," Xander offered. "I could distract them while you sneak her in."

"I won't have you dirtying your hands on my account. You're still in good with the higher powers. I need you to keep it that way 'til we know what the sodding heck is going on."

"Yeah, but we're partners."

"You may as well be violating some kind of secret code then. You and Red need to get back in the ring and act like nothing's happened. Can't feed me to the wolves if you don't know anything."

"Here's another little bit of trivia," a voice professed from the door that was cracked open an inch or two, its owner's countenance all smiles. "You can't store lots of secrets up there if everything is empty, can you? With the overabundance of caffeine he consumes daily, it's a wonder he can even think at all."

"I resent that!" Xander objected.

"You can be as resenty as you want. It's not doing a darn thing to curb that obsessive compulsive coffee habit of yours, mister. You only have to have one cup and you're already bouncing off the walls."

"Well, if he's not drinkin' it, he's as good as Rip Van Winkle," Spike murmured.

"Thanks, you two. You really know how to cheer a guy up. Not that I needed cheering up, mind you, because I was actually a ten on the giddy scale on my way over here. You just downgraded that ten to a four."

"My bad," Willow replied happily, her grin stretching from ear to ear. "Anyway, Giles says he wants to see Spike for a minute, so unless you're both busy uncovering the world's biggest mystery, you better get in here." She shut the door, only to open it again seconds later. "Oh, and don't forget to say the magic passwordy thing to get back in."

Spike caught it with the tips of his fingers before it could close again, and recited the phrase Lorne used to grant them access while he waited for Xander to do the same, silently urging his friend to go on in ahead of him. With one last glance behind him, he secured the door and entered Caritas, gradually undoing the buttons on his black pea coat. Buffy sat at one of the tables a few feet away from the bar, and had since changed into a plaid button down shirt with a white tank top rather visible underneath, a pair of jeans hugging her slender frame and wearing the same sneakers she'd worn a few hours prior on her feet. He made a note to buy her a couple more pairs of them the next time they passed a store that wouldn't have his or her pictures and names planted all over wanted posters. Her blonde hair was loosely gathered into a ponytail, several long strands framing her pretty face, her green eyes meeting his blue ones and sucker punching him in the gut all over again.

"William."

The detective reluctantly shifted his attention to his mentor as Rupert approached him, his expression incomprehensible as he made a quick nod to the far corner of the room. They settled into two unoccupied chairs seated against the back wall, Spike leisurely crossing his arms over his chest, as he mimicked the gesture with his ankles, staring quite pointedly at the other man. Neither of them said anything for a moment, the silence between them becoming terribly awkward.

"I trust you're holding up well?" Giles finally queried, his stance remaining slightly more rigid as he addressed him.

"Well, I won't be shedding a tear over Harm's death," he mused with a fair bit of indifference. "She's bollixed up my investigation good and proper, and the last thing the minx said to me had to do with pulling a stick out of my ass, if you can believe it."

"Death will do that."

Spike cocked an eyebrow. "Pull a stick out of your ass?"

"Of course not," he countered, a tad embarrassed. "I simply meant that the investigation, as it stands, will naturally take a turn for the worse as a result of the recent turn of events that have transpired. You should expect nothing less, although I have reason to think you only see it as a burden." He gently withdrew his glasses and placed them upon the nearest table. "I know you, William. You feel something. You've never been completely deprived of that privilege, even in your soulless state."

"I'm capable of showing remorse, Rupert. Never said I wasn't. Granted, it's more for her family than for her, and you're welcome to dispute that. I'd rather you didn't, though, 'cuz we need to find out which Watcher kept those records in Red's book before this son of a bitch starts killing again. He might not be the one who wrote it, and I'll gladly admit it's a long shot, but he may know who did since he's taken such a profound interest." He paused and briefly shut his eyes, arching his back a bit further into the chair. "Once I went and sussed out the clues left for me at the Hart crime scene- not to mention the colorful words we shared on a personal level, it's easy to see how bad he's coming apart at the seams. He's unhinged and he'll step things up even more than he already has."

"Xander's informed me he hasn't found anything of value at Harmony's. Whatever...clues may have been there are-"

"No, I'd wager he's already got something of ours he wants to bargain with by now."

"Something he took from the crime scene?" Giles asked. "If you're still looking at this objectively, I find that terribly hard to comprehend when he's done nothing but show you exactly how he operates. You could say he's been especially forthcoming in that respect and has been since the very beginning. If he's holding anything back by any means, perhaps it has to do with your Miss Summers. If we're to assume Joyce was his first kill, it all leads straight back to her. I suggest you try and get her to open up a bit more, see what she knows."

"Right then, 'cuz she's just been so willing to confess the ultimate tell-all since the day I met her."

"William, please."

"Harris told me I should take her back to where it all happened, but she's not ready. I just dumped a lot on her with this slayer gig and she's got enough to worry about as it is. Don't fancy gettin' her spooked even more by forcing her to recollect the night her mum died in vivid and gory detail."

"You've witnessed much more disturbing acts during your own reign of terror. You had the decency to rectify it while the chap we're after has intimately embraced it. It means something."

"What, that I'm not out there wearin' a cape and desecratin' small villages?"

"You've killed a slayer, but you never made her suffer. You were quick and efficient. I don't think this...monster, if you will, gives them that. He draws it out and he tortures them."

"Angelus liked torture. Some would say it was his specialty. I was too busy hatin' him to care."

"But you did care, because you felt it was irrelevant when held in comparison to the path of destruction you could wield. You liked it to be over with quickly, so you could move onto whatever was next."

"You'll make a fine psychologist one day, Rupes. Really." Spike brought himself into an upright position and walked the short distance to his mentor, giving him an abrupt pat on the back. "But you don't have a bloody degree and class ain't in session. Won't be payin' you extra to waste my time."

"Since when have you ever paid me at all?"

"I've paid you for information just fine. You always knew I was good for it."

"Yes, but you also dated my secretary without my knowledge for awhile until my copier was destroyed by a silly attempt at photographing her posterior. You knew it wasn't acceptable behavior in a public forum and the two of you acted like school children. Forgive me if I have an awfully hard time forgiving such negligence when I'm still waiting for the reimbursement of my property."

"Thank the heavens that hunk of disastrous junk is now obsolete. Don't know why you even had it in there in the first place. You were already aware that girl only had half her brain when you hired her, and I can't see it being my fault that she jumped at the opportunity to put her assets on display. You thought as little of her as I did, and now your feathers are all ruffled 'cuz she's dead. It doesn't mean you have to take it out on me and rehash all of the stupid decisions I've made. You should just tell me what's really on your mind so we can get this over with."

"You haven't...done anything with Buffy yet, have you?"

"I've been there for her," he deadpanned, as he shook his head, not daring to bring up the kiss he and Buffy had shared the night before. It was still insanely fresh in his mind, but as far as he could tell, some affirmations were never meant to see the light of day- no matter how noble their intentions. "It's what friends do. They lend each other their support when a hocus pocus madman is after 'em. Now I don't know what Harris has-"

"All Xander and I have spoken about is the case," Giles assured him.

"And I thought we were in agreement about this after you got done visiting your ex. This doesn't need to come between us. You know that."

"I do," he acknowledged. "She speaks quite well of you and the courage you've given her."

"She's startin' to get back what they took from her."

"William-"

"She's learning what power is, Rupert, and why she has it. She never had that when she was stuck in that cell twenty-four hours a day, did she? They ordered her around and threatened her to keep quiet, all the while violating her to their content. Say what you want about my methods, but leave my reasons out of it, 'cuz they're nothing but the best."

"Then I was wrong to think I could still try and stand in your way. The truth is, you've built such a life for yourself and lately I feel as if I'm no longer much a part of it. You've retained your second micro cell, but you failed to inform me of your plan with it in advance. You did exactly what I hoped you wouldn't, and you ran."

"I did, and I'd do it again if we have to."

"Yes, and your heart isn't the only one on the line this time."

"My heart is an unresponsive organ that I had the pleasure of being blessed with the second I received my vampire calling, old man. I may have a soul, but apparently that's the only thing workin' its will inside of me. Much as it pains me to say this, I'd feel bleeding lost without it. Right now, I'm usin' it to help her."

"It's love, isn't it?"

"No, and we've been-"

"She's not Drusilla, William, and you have no right to insist that she measure up to such ridiculous expectations."

"Is that what you've convinced yourself this is?" he demanded, advancing on the record keeper once more. "That I...avoid commitment 'cuz of what that bitch put me through all those years ago? It's laughable, to say the least, I'll give you that. You've been off your rocker a time or two, so I'm gonna go and set the record straight here. Just so we're clear on this from here on out. Buffy is light, where Drusilla was dark. That darkness nearly consumed me 'til I found a way to fight for what I wanted. It almost ripped me apart from the inside out. Buffy's the only thing in this bloody world that still makes perfect sense to me. She may try my patience on occasion, but she's the only one who can-"

"You've got an audience, Pratt, so I'd keep doing what you're doing and compose an insanely riveting speech for award season," Xander offered, seemingly impressed. "Although, consider me already riveted, because that freaking rocked, man."

"It's the poet in him," Lorne answered, as he slid a plate of cookies in front of Willow and shot her a quick wink. "You don't even have to read him to see it. That man is so far gone he may as well be in the Atlantic by now."

"More like a deserted island made for two without any hope of raft or rescue."

"Yeah, that'll put him in a jam, all right."

"I'd appreciate it if two please stopped talking about me when I'm right sodding here already. This discussion doesn't have a thing to do with either of you, and you're sticking your noses where they don't belong. What I do with my-"

"And what about me?" Buffy managed, as she strode up to him, her green orbs flashing as her chin trembled, thoroughly meeting his gaze head on.

She radiated such passion in that single glance that he found it hard to break it, his blues softening considerably, while his demeanor hardened and attempted to remain fairly impassive. "What about you, love?"

"You were talking about me over there, weren't you?" she accused.

"Let's take this upstairs."

"Why?"

"_Why_?" he repeated, dumbfounded.

"If there's something you guys are keeping from me, I think I deserve to know. You did the same thing at Jenny's and you wouldn't say what it was about. If it concerns me or the case, I think you owe it to me to explain yourself. I deserve that much. Or, you know, maybe we're not even working together anymore and somebody forgot to tell me the uplifting news. Maybe this is all some lame setup to drag me back where I came from, while you all have a nice laugh about it and tell me I'm still as guilty as the day you put me away."

"I didn't put you away, Buffy, and this isn't-"

"I'm tired of it, okay? I'm just...I'm so tired, Spike, and I'm even more tired of waiting for some kind of prince to sweep me off my feet when all the other girls get their fairy tales and I'm still running from the law because the same man that killed my mother is out there trying to kill _me_. I'll never have the husband or the dog or the nice little house by the lake with white trim and a rose garden. I'll always be back there in that cell thinking I should be punished for something I never did."

The only sound that could be heard in the room was the ticking of the clock perched directly above a row of glasses by the counter, and the meticulous tapping of Giles' fingers as he ran them over the smooth tabletop, refusing to focus his eyes on anything but the young woman who continued to stand no more than a few feet away from him, her hopes and dreams once again having withered away from the immeasurable volume of shame she concealed.

"Are you sure you don't just wanna sit back down and have a glass of water, sweet cheeks? C'mon, it's still on the house."

She sniffled as she recognized Lorne's attempt to break the ice, swiping at her nose with her shirt sleeve, and giving him the best smile she could muster despite her morose state. "No, I...thanks, but I think I really need to be alone right now."

"Not on your life," Spike mumbled before he could stop himself, moving towards her as he forcibly clasped his hand in hers and led her to down to the basement level, refusing to let up until they were all the way down the stairs and the door was shut tight behind them. "You need to learn how to vent, pet, and wallowing up there isn't a means to solvin' your problems. You can cry all you want and nothing'll make it any less difficult for you. Whatever you need to do, you do it here, got it? Take it out on the punching bag or take it out on me. Just don't go holding it all inside 'til you feel like you're gonna burst."

She lifted her tear stricken face and rubbed at eyes that were red around the rims. "Gee, have anymore metaphors you'd like to add to that mix of yours?"

"Bugger it." He tilted his head to the side, obviously late on catching the double entendre, as he was much more focused on his intent to simply get her to let go. "Rupert and I are only lookin' out for you, Slayer. When he's ready, I'm sure he'll disclose his reasons for that, but I can't speak for him. It's not my place, and you'd much rather hear it from him, anyway."

"So what is your place, _William_?"

"Don't call me that," he whispered.

"Giles does. Besides, it's the way you introduced yourself to me in my cell, remember? You said, 'my name's William Pratt, and I'm a detective with the LAPD.' I don't see what the-"

He had her back against the wall before she could finish and both hands cupped the back of her neck, leaving his thumbs free to trail lightly over her cheeks as he felt her struggling to catch her breath, her heart thumping furiously in her chest.

He often wondered if she was still somewhat afraid of him and what he could do to her. Not that he would've, of course. He liked to think he finally had enough control over himself for that, yet he knew by now that if she wanted to she could have easily evaded his grasp as smoothly as she'd moved with the quarterstaff, leaving him bruised and hurting on the ground. Buffy had witnessed the true visage of his demonic nature and she'd seen the monster he'd become when Drusilla had changed him. She'd seen the ugliness that overshadowed his human features and she'd touched that ugliness without reservation. She saw through to his soul more often than he would've liked and it frightened him.

He dropped his right hand to the first button on her shirt and his fingers carefully pried it apart, taking his time as performed the same task with the others, keeping his blues trained on her as he did. It was then that he noticed she wasn't wearing a bra beneath the white cotton tank top, and the discipline he thought he'd already mastered was rapidly deteriorating just as quickly as he'd built up its resistance, the remainder hanging on by a mere filament. He softly let his hand wander underneath, half expecting her to strike out at him as he explored the warmth of her skin and settled his cold palm over the valley between her breasts, shifting the position slightly so that it rested directly over her heart. The steady thrum of it beat wildly beneath his fingertips and he closed his eyes, willing himself to bask in what he'd never experience again- what was forever denied him since he'd been turned.

"No matter what," he told her quietly. "You'll always have this. It means you're still alive, Buffy, and you have to live. All of that pain and hardship couldn't destroy it and it never will. I know it still hurts. Probably hurts you more than you can bear sometimes. But you've only just begun to see your own strength. What you are, sweetheart, is a marvel. A bloody marvel. I'm a mess when I'm around you. I'm just-"

"I'm sorry."

He laughed as he traced his thumb along her jawline with his other hand, his beautiful face gazing at her with such tenderness. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, Buffy, believe me. But trust me when I say you've ruined me."

"In a good way?" she questioned hopefully.

"In a very good way," he confirmed. "Thing of it is, Rupert seems content in reminding me of it every chance he bleeding gets."

"He doesn't approve and that's what you guys were-"

"Yeah, pretty much the gist of it, ain't it?"

"Well, if it's any consolation, I think you transitioned into adulthood way before he did, which basically gives you the right to overthrow him."

"That so?"

"Yes, it's totally so."

"Well, I guess that just make things a whole lot simpler then 'cuz Buffy here has given it her infamous seal of approval." Spike dropped his hand and let it rest loosely upon her waist, studying her awhile longer before he spoke. He placed a light kiss upon her brow, moving to the tip of her nose and to her cheeks. "I don't know if I've said it nearly enough, but you amaze me, Summers. It could just be impossible to have a life with you, but you amaze me."

He saw something flicker in her eyes then and was unable to decipher it. But it vanished as quickly as it had come and she was suddenly smirking at him. "We could spar a little if you want. Go another few rounds. I've been working a little more on my technique."

"Not a bad idea."

"All right. You're on."

"I know your moves are still bordering on girly, but I urge you to do your worst."

"Oh, you are _so_ on," she reiterated, shoving at his chest until his feet graced the mat in the middle of the room. And for now, she could handle that. She really could. But a normal life be damned, she didn't see why he insisted on doing what he did to her when it was obvious his feelings for her surpassed a simple gesture of friendship. Everything in her body had hummed when he touched her the way he had and she wanted more. Craved it. It was the same tingly thrill she'd felt when he'd kissed her in his apartment, and all immortality aside, it just felt right. His obvious concern for her and her happiness had stirred emotions she'd tried to ignore herself, and Buffy knew now that he was repeatedly trying to put that happiness before his own. Her heart, the same one he'd been so fond of just minutes ago, nearly broke for him.


	14. Chapter 14: First Things First

Chapter Fourteen: First Things First

_Caritas_

6:52 PM

Buffy Summers sat upon the bottom step of the long basement stairwell, dutifully applying the white hand wraps she'd found draped over the flimsy banister and promptly securing the Velcro enclosure on each of them. She glanced briefly at her target and released a breath she hadn't known she was holding, bravely turning to face the large punching bag hanging to her right. She yanked her ponytail a smidgeon tighter and began to takes a series of repetitious shots at it, shoving her fists into it with purpose, imagining herself shattering every single bone in the smug face that had invited itself into her dream the night before. Grunting from the effort, she allowed her enhanced slayer abilities to guide her, tuning out the banter still drumming on upstairs and efficiently focused herself on the task. She hadn't been over this part of the training yet with Spike, but surprisingly, she found it was coming to her naturally- as if she'd been imbued with the added strength all her life.

She pushed on and continued to strike the bag, eventually getting to the point where she'd long since lost count and hadn't awarded one single glance at the clock perched over the far wall, beads of perspiration forming rapidly on her forehead. It was only when she saw the bag lying on the floor approximately ten feet away from where she'd been standing, that she truly realized the ramifications of what she'd done, her green eyes blinking wildly around the room as if trying to regain a sense of her current surroundings. She reached for a bottle of water from the small fridge that occupied the furthest corner of the room and eagerly took a long swig, drowning half of its contents in seconds before wiping a hand across her sweaty brow.

"Check out Buffy the Super Slayer. Is it legal to start charging you for my headaches now?"

Buffy turned to see Lorne standing in the middle of the stairway, his red eyes watching her, as he casually helped himself to a sip of the glass in his hand, swirling it slowly with a flick of his wrist. His thin lips offered her a brief smile, and she could see he was once again clothed in bedroom attire, the robe a silky cranberry red with silver trimming. To complete the ensemble, he wrote a pair of matching satin silver pajama slacks and a pair of black slippers. She suddenly felt terribly underdressed in her workout gear, but returned the smile in spite of it. "Depends on how many you get."

"You know, I understand it isn't my place to intervene in the affairs of the most powerful girl in all the world, but you really shouldn't work yourself into oblivion there, sweetie. The threat isn't pending at the moment, so there's no reason you should be attacking the equipment like it's an old ex."

"The last boyfriend I had was in high school," she supplied. "His name was Scott and he wasn't exactly the most sensitive guy on the planet, either. He could've cared less about what came out of my mouth half the time, and that was probably because he was only interested in making it past first base and into my pants."

"He sounds like a real charmer," Lorne murmured.

"He dated half the female student body before I left. At least, that's what I'd always tell myself so I didn't have to think it was me or something I did." She shrugged and drank more water, her fingers clenching the plastic to the point of almost crushing it. "Apparently, I was too distracted and wasn't really into it. His words, of course. But, you know, it's like I said- pants. Into."

"Well, if we could find him and I could get him to sing for me, I guess we'd learn a few things, wouldn't we?"

"What about Spike?" she asked then.

"You want Spike to sing for me?" the demon returned, laughing. "Good luck playing those odds." He treated himself to a second helping from his glass. "You know, even if I could convince that bleached blonde head of his to comply with our arrangement, there's no telling what might come out of there. Besides, I don't have to get a peek inside to see he's absolutely _crazy_ about you. The fallen, can't get up, heart aches kind of crazy. Well, you could omit that bit about the heart, especially since his doesn't exactly move- but hey, go with the flow, right? Let's just say you probably occupy a lot of his waking thoughts."

"Then why do I get this feeling he keeps holding back because he thinks he'll hurt me?"

"Did he ever tell you about the slayers he went up against?"

"No. I...not in great detail, at any rate. He mentioned he didn't always respect them, but I just figured it was before he got his soul."

"Oh, he's real keen on deciphering how their mind works. Always has been, though I doubt he knew of how they came to be when he killed one. Let alone that they originated in the very same part of the globe he went to fight for his soul. Anyway, he took out a slayer during the Boxer Rebellion, and from what he told me earlier, those files the Techno-Pagan gave him kind of threw him for a loop. I guess I can't blame the poor guy, but all enemies aside, he wasn't aware their power came from a demon. The whole package is courtesy of your fun loving Shadow Men. The Shadow Men, as it turns out, were basically old school Watchers who grew into their so-called professionalism."

"Yeah, I know this. Spike already- well, not the stuff about the girl during the Boxer Rebellion, but that was it, right?"

"You'll want to bring that up with him, and I strongly suggest you ask about Angelus. Spike wasn't the only one who earned a name for himself killing the women that hunted his kind."

"Angelus...killed a slayer, too," she uttered rather slowly.

"I'm not at liberty to say, but Spike asked me about what he read in those files before I came down here. The popular theory is that whoever wants you dead most definitely hails from Watcher Headquarters. Or, did, as the case may be. My area of expertise is sadly limited there, but I'd go so far as to surmise he's got a pretty big scone jammed up his evil posterior."

"There weren't any names in the book that could-"

"No. But the point is, you have a man who wants to keep you safe until your twenty-fifth birthday."

"And after that?"

Lorne ran a thumb across his empty glass and studied it before turning back to her. "It's complicated, isn't it? Rupert is completely justified in voicing his concerns about the two of you, and all jokes of lovebirds and paradise aside, it would be wrong of me to say he wasn't. As the story goes, most vampires don't go through eternity stopping to smell the roses and choose a human mate. They move on every so often, and without regret, because they have to. It's in their nature. They can't bear to make acquaintances they'll outlive and watch die. Most just want a good kill. Spike's never been like that as long as I've known him, and he's plenty aware he's gotten himself into a bind. He doesn't see a way around it, because he can't see past wherever you are. Right now, that's where he wants to be. He'll pay the price for it eventually, but that's just the way it is."

"But what if all we had was right now? What if he just wants to live in the moment?"

"That's up to him," Lorne acceded. "If the Feds find out what he is and take him in, living in the moment becomes obsolete, because after awhile there's nothing else to live for."

"Prison."

"The facilities where they keep the demons are subject to harsher punishments, and sometimes they'll be unconscious for days at a time because the beatings are so bad. It doesn't matter if Spike has a badge or if they know he's working for the good guys. The men that have given themselves the right to uphold the law any way they see fit won't go out of their way to see the distinction."

"He'd risk that for me?"

"Honey, in his eyes you're worth it."

"Is he still talking with-"

"No, they were just leaving. He probably went upstairs to shower. I thought for sure he'd make a stop here first, but I know he wanted to take a few snapshots of the book for future reference before Rupert takes it with him."

"Can I...I mean you don't..."

"Go on," he urged, grinning. "And take it easy on the way up, because I've heard a slayer's insurance plan is virtually non-existent."

There was only silence as Buffy ascended to the top floor and covered the short distance to their room, pausing just beyond the narrow crack of the door that had been left slightly ajar. There was a small sliver of light emanating from inside, and her green eyes widened considerably once she caught sight of him, her hand tearing itself away from the knob as if it had been burned. Her mouth opened to speak, but no sound came out. She felt paralyzed to move again, and to say she was utterly surprised by what she'd just witnessed would have been putting it mildly- too mildly. It occurred to her then just how little she really knew about him and how much she had yet to find out.

He was kneeling on the side of the bed and his hands were clasped together in prayer, his lids closed and his lips murmuring words she couldn't hear. It made little sense to her, because the demon inside of him was the monstrosity the church often preached and warned against, showing no mercy for the beasts they believed had been forged from the likes of Hell itself. Granted, Spike's soul was still very much intact, and it certainly made him more human than he would have been otherwise, but Buffy was curious as to whether or not he would still be permitted to enter a place of worship. If a priest had solid proof of the existence of such creatures, there was a good chance he would deny an ensouled vampire the right to repent, and she wondered if Spike quite possibly still sought whatever forgiveness he hadn't been able to achieve after the trials.

She always knew when he picked up on her presence, so when he gradually lifted his head and met her gaze with what could only be described as shame, she instantly felt a sharp pang of guilt creep up her spine and was horrified at herself for being so intrusive. But instead of running off like the voice in her head kept telling her to, she pushed open the door a bit further and walked in, never breaking contact. "I'm sorry," she stated quietly. "I was talking to Lorne downstairs and he told me I could find you up here."

Spike retrieved the Bible that lay open across the sheets and tossed it into the drawer of the nightstand, hissing at the damage inflicted upon his skin as a result of his carelessness. In the midst of his finally noticing her being there, he'd failed to handle it with the thick white handkerchief that sat beside it and his palm sizzled. "Bloody hell, didn't anyone ever teach you to knock?"

"I said I was sorry, and I never meant-"

"No, you never do, do you?"

She retreated from the sharp tone of his voice as if she'd been slapped, her lower lip trembling. "I'll ask Lorne if he'll fix me up a spot down by the bar for tonight. I just need to get my things."

"Buffy."

"It's all right," she insisted softly. "He's you're friend, so you should have the bed. It'll give you a lot more privacy. I imagine you're tired of me following you around, anyway, and we could both use a little break."

"Never said I wanted you to go, love. What you saw-"

"I didn't see anything," she replied simply, as she bent to retrieve her duffel bag, slinging it hurriedly over her shoulder.

"Yeah, you did, and I'd appreciate it if you'd let me explain."

"So explain," she prompted. "What's stopping you?"

"I thought you were," he returned, confused.

"Fine. You've got five minutes."

He tilted his head at her, laying his arms over his chest. "And you're giving me orders again, too. Sounds awfully familiar."

"You should do something about your hand. If you let it go too long, it'll-"

"What, you think it's the first time I've done it? Gone and had myself a little accident? Hardly. I once held onto a cross 'til it nearly took my flesh clean off, and I did it 'cuz it made me feel. Wasn't numb anymore."

"But you've had sex- you _have_ sex with women."

He quirked a brow, a smirk taking shape across his handsome face. "Where does it say you can't read the Bible and have sex? It's not like I parade myself around as a man of the sodding cloth."

"That wasn't what I was implying," she argued firmly, her cheeks blushing a light crimson. "It's just...you mentioned you wanted to feel, and sex does that. Not the kind I've had, but if you really love someone, you should feel something."

"Well, that's the thing, ain't it? I may have had sex with those women, but that's all it was. Sex. Sometimes, there's nothing more to it. Now, come the occasion I ever met a woman I was unable to hold back with, I'd like to think I'd be making love."

"You pray."

"Wasn't only prayin' for myself, pet, and I don't see what that has to do with-"

"Why don't you want anyone to know? Whatever you did before is in the past. I know it wasn't a good past, but you don't have to hide away what makes you even more human."

"Right then. Tell me, when was the last time you saw a vampire pray and mean every word of it?"

"You're the only one I know, so...probably none."

"Exactly."

"What happened between you and Angelus?" she pressed, ready to just lay it all out on the table before the clearing she'd spotted in the conversation expired.

His jaw tightened, as he rolled his eyes, his expression noticeably perturbed. "Told you. Dru left me for Angelus and I was a wreck for a bit. The end."

"No, I don't mean that."

"Then what did you mean? 'Cuz as much as I enjoy these little chats of ours, you sure do have trouble gettin' to the bleeding point, Slayer."

"Lorne said you killed a slayer during the Boxer Rebellion, yet you-"

"Well, I never got the manual back then, but I know how they operate- how they fight, how they think. Wasn't aware of how they were made 'til I took that crash course in history from Calendar's discs. If you're askin' me to show some compassion on behalf of a girl I offed over a hundred years ago without a soul, I'm afraid you're a bit late for that. It was a long time ago, and believe me when I say Angelus has done far worse. The damage he did to the other one was enough to make me heave."

"She was another slayer."

"She hadn't been under the control of her Watcher for more than a few months before he got a hold of her. He already did a real number on Dru by that time, too. Made her all insane prior to havin' her turned, and he was one hell of a pro. Although I s'pose if he hadn't done that, I wouldn't even be here in all of my undead glory tryin' to save you from some magical madman." He slumped down onto the bed and the mattress caved in a fraction more when she went and sat beside him, placing her hands in her lap after she dropped her duffel.

"It's her soul I still pray for," he confessed timidly. "See, he made 'em watch. Every single one of 'em. Told the Watchers he'd let 'em live if they did."

"You were there."

"I was, and the first thing he did was rape her. I could hear her screamin, just...pleading for it to end, but he didn't listen. Wanker never listened. No reason he should when he had that much power over her. He took her from behind first. Made sure to make it last 'til she couldn't take anymore. After the rape, came the torture. Sliced her up, and there was blood everywhere. Her Watcher took it the hardest, especially after he saw Angelus help himself to a drink and drain her dry. He was in control, and it wasn't in us to question it. It shouldn't have bothered me, but it did. Had it been me in his place, I would've had a good brawl, drank from her, and called it a day. Angelus liked it when they tried to resist, though. He always did, and God help me, Buffy, I wish I had tried to beat him back. Dru probably thought I wasn't in the game after that, and it wasn't long before I knew what I had to do. After all, what did I really have to lose? Angelus had already taken it all from me."

"You had every right to hate him," she contended.

"Always thought I'd be the one to kill him, too. But we never crossed paths again, and it's just as well, 'cuz I would have ripped his bleeding head off and left his remains to the Watchers."

"What was her name?"

"The slayer who-"

"Yeah. What was it?"

"Clara. Clara Blackwell. I remember how it was sewn into the pocket of her coat, all pretty like. She must've had someone who cared a lot for her back home, although I suspect she was more than just a charge to her Watcher, too. I found it odd, 'cuz if it were true, their involvement would have been forbidden under Council law, and he'd be removed from their organization right quick. Didn't know that at the time, of course, but it's all in Calendar's files. Their whole policy in a blooming nutshell."

"Do you think it might be him?"

"Him who? The Watcher? That measly little twerp of a man I saw sitting there helpless while Angelus raided his goodies? Not likely. He was a novice, Buffy. He hadn't perfected his craft. Sorry sod. You could tell just by lookin' at him."

"People make the wrong choices all the time. Sometimes they think they're doing it for love, but in reality it's just their own sick, twisted sense of pride. What if he thought he loved her, but it wasn't enough? What if he needed to prove he was capable of avenging her death, but went about it in such a way that the same thing wouldn't happen to other slayers?"

"This was years and years ago, pet. I'd wager the ponce is eatin' dirt by now. Watchers aren't immortal and as far as I know, have yet to tap into anything that would give 'em that kind of gift. We've talked about this. It would be against procedure to meddle with forces like that. They practice harmless magicks."

"But that book your friend Willow got was maintained by a Watcher. How would anyone else know about it if they weren't a Watcher, too? It's just like what we said before. They got rid of him and he got even. It's the Darth Vader theory and it fits! Scholarly, but underneath it all, viciously demonic. A snake with two faces."

He smiled, shaking his head. "All right, you got me there. I went and snapped up some excerpts from that book before Rupes left, and I was gonna study the penmanship in greater detail a bit later. If it were the same Watcher we discussed in the basement, he'd have to sign for it and there'd be a record of that signature in the Watcher Archives."

"Can you access those archives from a computer?"

"Not everything can be done with the click of a button. They keep it all stored away by lock and key. It's an old fashioned system, or so I've read."

"Are you actually saying we'd have to go to England to find out? Hey, maybe you could impersonate a Watcher to get us inside."

"Now you sound like Harris."

"Xander's jumped on the outlaw train, too?"

"Might not even need England if we can learn something more about what was written in there and make our own inferences from it. 'Sides, I'm also not especially fond of a particular sketch Rosenberg happened to run across in her studies, and in lieu of other, more important circumstances, it might be best to just let it slide for now."

"Yeah, I guess that would be hugely embarrassing if you were wearing one of those wigs," she said plainly, the corners of her mouth twitching despite herself.

"Joke about it all you want, Slayer, but that hair was all my own. Wee bit poofy, I'll grant you, but still in the ballpark of reasonable. It was those sodding glasses that always bugged me. I was nearly blind as a bat before I was turned."

"So in other words, you think we should just let Giles handle it."

"Damn right. Better all around."

Buffy laughed as she snuck another glance at him. "I like this."

"This?" Spike repeated.

"Finding out more about you? It's nice. When we first met, I was this angry, spiteful person who couldn't see anything beyond what they did to me in that stupid place. You came in and you changed all that. I think it was because you saw something nobody else did. I mean I've had people come in and pretend to care. They made it seem like they wanted to appeal to me and get on my good side. But their motivations were always selfish, because they were just out for a quick buck. My lawyer included. They gave me one when I first got there, too. I didn't even have to make a fuss about it. Not that it helped when it went to court. I was literally drowning and wracked with thoughts of a murder I didn't commit and you came for me. You didn't make any stupid demands and you came for me."

"You were worth saving, Goldilocks. Still are."

"I didn't think so at the time. But I like you, and I like your friends, and you guys have just been so great."

"Please don't tell me you're gonna bloody cry again, 'cuz I don't think I could take it."

"No. I just want to tell you how thankful I am. For all of it. I know we've had some...disagreements lately, and I understand you a lot better now. Not that I don't think we shouldn't at least-"

"Someday, when this is all over, you'll meet someone. I know you might not be convinced of that right this very minute, but you will. He'll be just what you need and the two of you will live out your lives with children and grandchildren 'til you're old and bleeding gray. You'll remember me sometimes, but after awhile you'll start to forget. It won't be on purpose, it's just the order of things."

"I'm a slayer, Spike. How can I even have normal when nothing'll ever _be_ normal?"

"If the ban remains in effect, you won't have to worry about your duty and obligations, Buffy. As soon as we finish this, they're as good as dead, pet. You won't have to tell anybody about it and they won't ask. To them, you'll just be a girl."

"I can't be just a girl. Not anymore."

Spike breathed an unnecessary sigh, as he wrestled with whether or not to retrieve the pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans, longing for the days when he'd been able to suppress and ignore the persistent urge. "I saw what was inside you before you became the slayer. It's certainly not unpleasant, and the first guy you meet that tickles your fancy won't have any trouble seeing it, either."

"Spike-"

"I know it's still a mite early yet, but I think it'd probably be for the best right now if we both try and catch a bit of kip."

"I'll take the floor," she volunteered, as she nodded. "You can take the bed."

"How about you wash up and change first and we'll flip a coin? How's that sound?"

"Deal."

He waited until she disappeared into the miniscule bathroom before he got up to pull off his jeans and trade them for sweat pants, slipping a fresh white t-shirt over his hand. Spike decided to ultimately refrain from telling her he went commando beneath the comfort of his slacks, and had come to the conclusion that the probability was high that she already had an inkling of an idea after their little adventure in the car on the way to Calendar's. And for that reason alone, he chose not to press the matter any further. It was right thick of him in terms of just how much he'd led her on from the beginning, and he would have to rectify that situation if she thought there was even a remote possibility. Deep down, he just wanted to throw caution to the wind and abandon all of the pigheaded morals his mentor had ingrained in him regarding the obvious disapproval of his affection for her.

When she returned, she was clothed in the same nightly attire she'd been wearing while she'd stayed at his apartment, and was in the process of rubbing some lotion onto her hands, flexing them before resuming her task. Her hair hung in waves around her pretty face and he felt himself falling for her all over again, entirely captivated by her beauty. In short, she was still so bloody gorgeous and he relished in the notion that she was also far from perfect. After today, his admiration for her had definitely grown thricefold.

"Are you okay?"

He directed his blues to the comforter, as he began to pull it down to the edge of the bed, mortified that he'd been caught gawking at her like an inexperienced school boy again. Transferring that pent up energy into cool, calm, and collected took some work, but he somehow pulled it off without a hitch as he moved to address her with nonchalance. "Beg your pardon?"

"You...just seemed like you were somewhere else or something. Nobody's ever really looked at me that way before."

"Is that right? And, um, which way would that be, love?"

"As if you wanted to do something kind of bad. Naughty bad. Like I said, weird. I mean, it's not if you were even thinking that. You couldn't be after what you told me, and I'm starting to think I talk way too much when I get all jittery."

He grinned. "Jittery?"

"You make me all tingly inside sometimes," she admitted. "A warm kind of tingly."

"I'm not quite sure how to take that."

"You don't have to, I was just making a statement. Anyway, maybe you can tell me more about the slayer you killed tomorrow, too."

"Yeah, like that didn't just come out of bloody nowhere," he pointed out. "If it's any consolation, Buffy, the less you know about that, the better."

"But you told me about Angelus and Clara," she protested. "I don't see why you're getting this defensive over yours when what you did was nothing compared to what he put his through."

"And how screwed up is that?" he inquired rather rhetorically. "I killed one back then, and I'm suddenly participating in some much needed rescuing for one now. Doesn't quite compute, does it?"

"No, but we haven't decided what we're doing about the bed, so maybe that discussion can wait until tomorrow, too."

"We shared a lot today," he noted. "Don't see why we can't share this. I promise I'll keep all my parts to myself. If I break that promise, you're welcome to give me a boot or two and shove me on the floor face first. Whatever works best. Either way, I'd understand."

"Sounds fair, I guess."

"And about what I told you today, it- Lorne and Giles know, but that's it."

"I won't tell anybody," she assured him. "But if Clara's Watcher is the same guy who killed my mom, it'll probably come out. It wouldn't be fair to keep it from the others. They've really helped us out these past few days and they've stuck by you with the whole vampire thing. Even Xander. You still have a partner, right?"

He crawled onto the right side, while she took the left, placing his hands behind his head as he rested them on the pillow. "For now. There's no telling what might happen if this Lockley gets her way. Harris says she wants to meet me- have a little sit down, one on one. She neglected to mention that any kind of conversation we have in the near future will be on neutral ground so neither of us has the advantage. If I accept her invitation to come to the department, she'd pin every violation in the bloody book on me for keepin' you from prison."

"So you need to make a good impression. Got it."

"I'm not sure there is such a thing," he reasoned, as he heard her turn off the lamp on her side, subtly bathing the room in darkness. "Not where the Feds are concerned."

"We need to start building our own case, Spike."

"It happens I know someone who can help us with that, love. Not to mention throw Lockley off our scent. He wouldn't have been my first choice, as I don't always condone his methods, but he came through for me a year ago on a double homicide and saw something Harris and I missed. Was more or less usin' him as a last resort, but I think he's earned it."

"Just how many _guys_ do you know?"

"Oh, he's not a demon."

"What a relief," she deadpanned.

"He's a private investigator that operates out of his mum's basement."

She giggled. "How did you two meet?"

"His brother was convicted of practicing four years ago and got a couple teens killed at a high school prom. Conjured up some hellhounds and whatnot. Ugly bastards, too. Real dangerous. He summoned them to attack anyone who was dressed up in formal wear."

"You're kidding."

"It didn't go over well and the press was on us for weeks. It was demonic, of course, so naturally I had to spin the story a bit and tell the paper big brother snapped 'cuz of the spells he'd been doing. Left the hellhounds out of it. That seemed to satisfy and he's still locked up serving out his sentence. Harris thought he was just loopy and needed an evaluation. I'd taken on the hounds by myself and called him after I'd disposed of the bodies and knocked the perpetrator unconscious. To keep it short and sweet, there was very little backlash in the media, and for awhile little brother's business was thriving on account of his messed up sibling havin' made the news."

"What if he's heard of what I- what if he doesn't help because of it?"

"Won't be a problem."

"Is this where you tell me to trust you again and everything'll be okay?"

"Is that what you want me to tell you?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I think I just want it to be over. I want things to be like they used to. I mean, it probably sounds so stupid, but there are days when I still feel like she's with me, Spike. That she never left. But that's impossible, because I saw her that night. She's really gone and I- well, she's not coming back, and I just have to learn to accept it."

"No, she's not coming back," he echoed, shutting his eyes and trying to will himself to sleep, wondering if he'd severely miscalculated the need for it. "You've got me, though."

"For how long?" she whispered.

"For as long as it takes."

"But not forever, right?"

"Forever is without end, Buffy. Like it or not, sweet bit, you've already got the better half of that bargain."


	15. Chapter 15: Turn a Blind Eye

Chapter Fifteen: Turn a Blind Eye

_December 18th_

7:19 AM

"Couldn't we just go back to Lorne's? I like it there."

"Don't know why you're so scared, pet." Spike shot her a fleeting glance riddled with amusement as they approached the beige two-story house located on a fairly run-of-the-mill neighborhood street, its curbs populated with numerous trash bins and mailboxes, the occasional bike left on its side on the lawn. "We already talked about this last night. The bloke's harmless. He's a little on the eccentric side, but he gets the job done. Oh, and take care to watch where you're going, too, 'cuz the last time I was here I almost tripped one of his sodding alarms."

"What, like booby traps?" she questioned.

"Well, he's not James Bond, but he hardly lacks in brains. So, yeah, like a booby trap. Grass is full of 'em. Keep to the driveway and try not to veer off. The boy's fond of his gadgets. Makes quick work of the intruders, at any rate."

"Does he know what you are? That you're...different?"

"No," he told her honestly. "Best not bring it up unless you're prone to hearin' a grown man scream like a woman."

"So he's a nerd _and_ a cry baby?"

"Oh, I doubt he's proud of it." They stopped at a door located down a series of concrete steps in the back of a yard in desperate need of a trim, and Spike held out a hand in front of her, placing a finger to his lips to silence her. He shot her a devious smile before he rapped on the contraption and feigned a rather convincing American accent. "Los Angeles Police Department. Homicide."

"If someone's dead, I didn't kill them!" came the nervous reply. "You've got the wrong house!"

"Not according to the paperwork."

"There's paperwork?" the response was more of a squeak this time, the tone indisputably filled with fear. "Really?"

"Afraid so," Spike continued. "It's all routine. Trust me, sir, this'll go a lot quicker if you just let us come inside. Got a few questions we'd like to ask you."

"What about?"

"I'm not at liberty to say out here, which is why I'd really like to do this inside and away from prying eyes. Please know that the department appreciates your cooperation. The faster we get this over with, the-"

"My cooperation?"

"Yeah, your cooperation. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say you'd prefer it if I didn't have to use force and give the neighbors a bird's-eye view."

The sound of what appeared to be a chair screeching away from a table could be heard as the door was eventually wretched open to reveal the occupant, his worry stricken face immediately beaming in recognition as he threw his arms around the vampire and pulled him into his strong embrace. "Spike! Oh my God, I totally knew it was you."

"Sure you did, Andrew."

"Wow, you just make friends wherever you go, don't you?" Buffy piped up, grinning.

He raised a quick brow in the slayer's direction before calmly removing himself from the crushing grip of the man standing in front of him, inviting himself into the comfort of the spacious basement office which doubled as a bedroom and a workshop in its downtime. "Need a bit of a favor."

"No problem." Andrew Wells rubbed his hands together and nodded, stealing the briefest of glances at his comrade's company. He was a short man, just barely clocking in at five feet, seven inches, his blonde hair a ruffled mess. He was clothed in an old black Star Wars t-shirt and a pair of long, Bermuda style shorts, a pair of flip flops residing on his feet. "So, are we back on the horse?"

Spike could only stare at him. "Beg your pardon, mate?"

"Your date? I...I mean girl," he admonished. "Your girl date?"

"She's not my date, you ponce." Shaking his head, he straddled the back of the chair closest to the exit, withdrawing a pack of smokes from the pocket of his pea coat. "This is Buffy. Buffy Summers. Buffy, this is Andrew Wells."

"Private investigator and part-time inventor," she added. "Yep, so I've heard."

"She's pretty good," his friend murmured, as he shook her hand somewhat shyly, quickly advancing toward the mini fridge beside the sofa, keying in a code before he opened the miniscule door. "Can I get anyone a chilled beverage? Mom just stocked it last night. Plenty of juice boxes for everyone."

"Give your dear old mum my thanks," Spike drawled, as his blues drifted up to Buffy, "but I think I'll pass. Love?"

"I'm good," she assured him, hesitantly sinking into the comfort of a dilapidated armchair perched adjacent to the stairwell. "This is a really nice place you've got here, Andrew."

"Thanks, I did all of the decorating myself," he proudly added. "But I actually think I'm better with the other stuff."

"Other stuff?"

"He's never been intimate with a woman," Spike interjected lazily. "Spends what time he's not with his clients workin' on those bloody inventions of his and obsessing over science fiction. Pathetic, is what it is."

"I've been working on uploading my brain wave patterns to mimic holographic form so I can have a conversation with myself. It's not pathetic, it's cathartic," Andrew insisted.

"Yeah, all right."

"Look, do you want that favor or not? Five more minutes of you and I might not feel very charitable at all. In fact, I can be downright cranky and send you packing."

"I don't see any luggage, you poof, but that's 'sides the point here, ain't it?" He casually lit a cigarette and placed it to his lips. "Thing of it is, I need you to push a false lead through."

"A false lead."

"Misdirection. You know, about where me and the bird here are? And in order to do that, you'll have to hack into the Federal database and mess around a bit. Think you can handle it?"

"But you're a cop," he objected. "Couldn't you just do it? Your level of access is much higher than mine."

"Little late for that, seeing as I'm already on the run and wanted by the new guys in charge."

"They turned your latest case over to the Feds."

"You don't say," he quipped, his patience being tried to the limit. "You know, as much as I'd love to sit here for hours on end explaining my dilemma to you, I don't exactly have time to spare. I'll agree to a meet with the chit later, but right now, I need you to throw her the bait and make sure she bites. Got it?"

"Does this have anything to do with your girlfriend?"

"I am _not_ his girlfriend," Buffy protested, laying her arms stubbornly across her chest. "I'm a girl, and I happen to be his friend, but I'm so not-"

"She talks too much," Andrew retorted simply, as he moved over to activate his holographic display format. "I'm also picking up on a strong incoming whiff of denial, which means you are, too. I wonder why that is."

"I'll throw in some cash if you can make this stick and run her in circles for a bit. I just want her out of our hair for awhile while we're tracking this bloke down."

"You're talking about whoever's responsible for those murders."

"Yeah. Killed this one's mum seven years ago and he's killed again."

"That Hart guy's wife and...Harmony something."

"Harmony Kendall," Spike filled him in.

Andrew's eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he brought up the holo screen, tapping a few commands into his touchpad. "The same Harmony you were sleeping with?"

"Rub just a little more salt in those wounds, Wells, and we could call it a party. Don't know why the bleeding hell everyone's so focused on what she and I did when I was thinkin' with my lower half. As far as we're both concerned, it's vastly becomin' ancient history. Whatever may or may not have happened is hardly the issue here. Just do your job so we can call it even."

"I could put both of you in Nevada," he suggested hopefully. "A sighting somewhere on the outskirts of Las Vegas? It'll give them a run for their money. No pun intended."

"Too obvious," Spike declared, taking a slow drag and withdrawing the smoke.

"What about Seattle? It would put out an alert that you're heading toward the Canadian border into Vancouver. That's the best I can do right now to make it remotely convincing. I could slide it on through with fake passports to give it an edge with the border crossing."

"Do it, and when you're done, you can show me all your shiny new toys."

"You mean, you want to see-"

"I'm here, aren't I? Figure I should make the most of it."

Andrew scrambled back to his touchpad and began entering a few more details onto the screen, easily re-routing the location and sending information of a possible sighting to whichever agents happened to be within a five mile radius of Seattle in Washington. He typed for awhile longer, ensuring that his coordinates also made the rounds through the proper channels locally in Los Angeles, sending a memo to the local police department and successfully managing to bypass his IP address in the process, thereby maintaining full anonymity.

"I think you just made his day," Buffy told him, a small smile touching the corners of her mouth.

Spike merely shrugged. "It's worth the price I'm not paying, ain't it? He never takes the cash."

"And are you seriously trying to tell me you don't care about what he does in here? I mean he's practically a genius."

"Fancy dinner and a show, pet?"

"No!" she hissed, a blush creeping up over her cheeks at the implications. "I just mean that-"

"You sure?" he pressed on with a chuckle. " 'Cuz it seems like he's gettin' you all hot and bothered without even tryin', Slayer. I'd wager I'd be able to set the two of you up right quick. Andrew here would give his right arm if he could have a beautiful woman on his left."

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"It's not so farfetched, you know. A pretty girl's bound to be impressed by what he does down here when he's not out being a Hardy boy, and it goes a long way in defending the odd attraction in spite of the fact that he speaks geek."

"Speaks geek?" she repeated.

"The incomprehensible chit-chat of his generation. It's best you don't try to catch it, as it's outright contagious."

"I took some photos from the first crime scene," Andrew volunteered then. "I thought we could try and compare notes or something."

"Bugger that. I'm not your client, Columbo."

"Actually, no. See, _you'd_ be Columbo, because he worked out of Homicide. I'm more like a-"

"Gnat in my ear? Pain in my ass? Pick one."

"Can I show them to you or not?"

"For?" Spike asked simply.

"For clues, Mr. Grouchy. Like, hello, he could have been at the crime scene. Some killers watch from afar to survey their work. It's in the handbook!"

"What handbook?" he countered. "Serial Killers for Dummies?"

"You can buy that? I wonder if they have it in comp format."

"Exactly. You're completely gullible." He stabbed his cigarette into what appeared to be a homemade pottery bowl that was perched upon a short narrow table with four extremely slender legs holding it up, oblivious to the horror that flitted across Andrew's face as the boy grabbed it up and immediately rushed it to the sink behind him.

"Spike!"

"Oh, balls." The vampire winced as Buffy's shrill voice pierced his eardrum. "How was I supposed to know? It looked like a bleeding ashtray. I assumed the poof was being hospitable."

"He didn't even know you were coming!" she continued. "You just destroyed something his grandmother probably made him."

"High school. Art class," Andrew supplied. "It took me about a week, because Mrs. Farnsworth said I lacked creativity. Guess I showed her, didn't I? I...I mean not that she was actually around to see what else I did, because she passed at graduation. Warren told me she dropped dead during the last part of the ceremony. She was really ancient. I think her kids' kids had kids. Are you sure you guys don't want something to drink?"

"Positive," they stated in unison.

"So, anyway, I took these of the hotel the night you and Xander were called in. My scanner intercepted the report. It's a little dark, but I tried to get a shot of everybody that was there when you guys were." Andrew put up the photos on the holographic screen according to time stamp, and stepped back to get a better view of the footage as a whole. The electronic barrier was visible in a few of them, along with both uniformed cops and a handful of civilians who seemed awfully eager to get to the bottom of the commotion that had dragged them from the comforts of home and sleep.

Spike saw Morty in the third picture, and professed a slight grimace on behalf of the punch he'd received from Harmony's angry ex in all of its extremely painful glory. It was a memory he'd tried hard to repress, and as far as he knew, Jack and the Beanstalk's rival remained behind bars on account of not having a dime to his sodding name that would have allowed him to make bail. In all honesty he hoped it stayed that way so he wouldn't be tempted to sink his fangs into the bastard's neck if he ever saw him in the flesh again. Before he was able to contain it, he let out a low, feral growl- feeling a strong need to give into the demon inside him when it asked him for permission to come out and play.

"Spike?" Andrew inquired.

"What is it?" he responded a bit distractedly.

"You kind of went all primal on us," Buffy informed him.

"Primal."

"Caveman would suffice, too," Andrew put in.

"It's nothing," he insisted, which didn't seem to convince either of them as they continued to gawk at him, waiting for a much better explanation than the vague one he'd provided. "And if it's all the same to the two of you, I'd just as soon forget it."

"Holy crap!"

"Oh, for the love of-"

"Image number ten," the smaller man practically blurted out, using his fingers to zoom in and enhance it, bringing it up on a second screen and isolating the capture so that it was by itself without anything in its way to compromise it. The angle it had been taken differed from the rest of the collection, showing more of the civilian population vying for a peek, but aside from the obvious, it really wasn't telling much of a story.

"Right then, I give up," Spike contended, his blues studying the photograph with waning interest. "What the bloody hell are we supposed to be lookin' at?"

"It's not what we're looking at, but rather what we _aren't_ looking at."

"I still don't speak uber geek, Andrew."

"The woman with the baseball cap," he instructed. "I know her. I...I've seen her somewhere before. She's trying to stay out of the way, but at the same time, she's basically sticking her nose in it. I don't get a reporter vibe with her, though. She's sneaky and she's trained. The cops aren't even paying any attention to her. They think she's your typical bystander."

"Well, you've got facial recognition software, don't you? Should be a breeze to run her through it. The face is visible enou- son of a bitch."

"You see it too!" Andrew spoke excitedly. "You know who she is."

"Whether I do or don't isn't relevant. This is not something you should be directly involved in anyhow, and if you aren't nearly as daft as I thought you were, you'll forget you ever saw it. Not to sound like the most clichéd wanker on the planet, but this is bigger than how you make your living, Wells. She's been tracking us from the second Harris and I got that call and I can't have you on her radar. If what you did for me today traces back to you in any way, she'll be onto you and I don't want you to take the fall for this. I'd be more at ease with settin' myself on fire first."

"Who is she?"

"Kate Lockley. The agent who's taken full control of my case. Knows more than she's sodding lettin' on, too. No wonder she's overjoyed about the meet. Bitch is probably gonna see if she can play me 'til I confess the world's biggest sins. I'm sure she wouldn't mind seeing me fry for my apparent disservice to the department and all that rot. Not that I don't look forward to it, but I'd like to have a bit more in the way of leverage before I go to her all desperate and at the end of my bleeding tether. We need the scales to tip our way for once. I don't know how she's gone and done it, but she's certainly mastered the whole stayin' out of sight thing. Had to have been at the second crime scene, too."

"But if she's been watching us this whole time, why did she let us go?" Buffy queried. "It doesn't make sense. She'd want me back at the facility, Spike. She should have made her move when-"

"Don't worry about it," he cut her off. "Didn't pick up on anything out of the ordinary at my apartment yesterday. I can usually sense something right off the bat. Well, unless they're Calendar, which takes a tad more gettin' used to. But the point is, the coast was clear."

"Um, I'm still a little lost in the midst of this lovely campfire tale. Anyone want to start at the beginning?" Andrew beckoned, raising his hand. "I can make popcorn."

"We can't stay," Spike offered. "But I want you to know we'll be thinkin' of you every step of the way when I give the bird a taste or two of her own medicine, yeah?"

"Can I make a full disclosure rule then?"

"What the bleeding hell for?"

"Insurance in case they decide to take me hostage. If I tell them I don't know anything, they'll never let me go, because deep down they'll think I'm protecting you and know a whole bunch more that I'm not saying. It's the oldest trick in the book. I'll be stuck in interrogation for days and you guys won't be able to come and get me. How is that fair?"

"Oh, it's not," Spike told him. "But it's too late to amend rules that are usually broken. Better luck on that next time, mate. By then, of course, you'll probably be ready for me and I won't see it coming. You'll have a decent advantage."

"Will you at least accept a parting gift? I've been working on it for a couple of months now, and I think I've managed to perfect it."

"Yeah, fine. So long as it's not anything with a juice box or a fruit cake from your mum."

"I'm sure she'd love to meet you."

"Fantastic. We'll save it for the next time I see you, which hopefully won't be anytime soon."

Huffing out a breath, Andrew disappeared behind a long frilly curtain that led off to what seemed to be a much smaller room, returning half a minute later cradling a clumsily wrapped package within his grasp. "Consider it one for the road, okay? Don't open it unless you really have to."

"Brilliant, but how will I know if I have to? You're being all secretive and a mite twitchy about all this, and it's clear neither of us comes baring a flair for the special sight. How will I know when to use it if I don't even know what the bleeding heck it is?"

"You'll just know."

"Thanks ever so. And look, if you're contemplating layin' low, do it. I won't have you gettin' yourself killed over tryin' to get in too deep with this. It's as good as taken care of with me."

"You better call once in awhile to tell me you're not a corpse."

Already been there, Spike thought, but forced a smile in spite of the implications. Technically, though, he was in essence a walking, talking corpse that sustained most bodily functions of a normal human being and had very little limitations as to how easy it was to fake the lifestyle of a species that wasn't prone to sharing the perk of living forever. If Andrew ever suspected, he'd never said anything. He didn't push or prod, and despite the fact that Spike always saw fit to give him a hard time on purpose, he figured it made the boy stronger. He wasn't a thing like Buffy, who'd presented a rare challenge to him from day one, adamantly refusing to let it go and hanging on his every word until she'd gone and discovered the truth about what he was and who made him.

"It was great to meet you, Andrew!"

"If your goal was to get chummy with him," Spike mentioned once they'd departed and were out the door, "I could've left you here for a spell or two. You seemed awfully intent on gettin' to know the boy better."

"He just seems like he's really lonely," she uttered quietly. "It's like he's desperate for conversation with whoever'll listen. I just felt kind of bad for him, is all. I mean I know what that's like. It, um...kind of brings me back to when I was sitting alone in my cell with nothing to do. My phone privileges were revoked after awhile, because I no longer had anybody to call, and I'd just sit there staring at the walls. The family I have left doesn't give a care about me, and if you recall, any friends I thought I had pretended like I didn't even exist after the arrest. There's a strong possibility they would be like that now, too. I bet I haven't crossed their mind in years. They probably thought I'd faded into oblivion and became another statistic."

"Oh, piffle." He considered telling her about Giles and what he'd done for her, but chose to keep his mouth shut out of respect for his mentor. "You have to stop being so hard on yourself, love. I know you're still upset about what happened with the courts and your mum, but a father doesn't always have to be the poofter you share your DNA with."

"All the men I've had in my life have left me, Spike. For one reason or another, they've all left. I mean if it's not me, what is it? Are they so repulsed by what I've become that they have to-"

"You're great at giving me a guilt trip, Summers, you know that? Just when I think I've got you...understand you, you repeatedly jump in to bleeding surprise me and take an entire morning doing it. So let me also take this moment to intervene on your behalf again and tell you how wrong you are. You're not someone a bloke can easily forget, no matter what they think you've done. Murder is just a number when it comes down to it, and it's never as straightforward as people think. Take it from me. You're ever bit as constant as the air I should be breathing."

"I'm...I don't-"

"You don't have to. But you make my day, Goldilocks, you really do. All of 'em. Just needed to get that off my chest."

"I definitely support your right to do that."

"Then I'd say we make an awfully fine pair, don't we?"

"Yes, and I bet Andrew was thinking the same thing back there when he couldn't conceal his disappointment that your visit was so abrupt."

He halted in step when they reached the car, his cerulean gaze frozen in a perpetual state of shock. "What's that now?"

"Andrew, dummy. He's totally into you."

The shock turned into nerves as she saw him fumble in his pockets for his zippo lighter. "Into me...how?" he reiterated, pronouncing the last word very carefully.

"He wants you. _Bad_."

"Buffy-"

"You know, I never thought I could say anything to make you shake in those combat boots, but you should look at yourself. Big bad vampire all scared that his friend has a crush on him. I mean, really. You're actually freaking out about this!"

"Am not," he vehemently resisted. "It's just- Andrew? Andrew sodding Wells who has girly posters plastered all over his bathroom walls and naughty magazines under his couch. Gay?"

"Yes, and the posters and magazines are just for show."

"All for show. Every bit?"

"Yep. I guess cops really are all about the professionalism, because they sure don't know what the heck is going on right under their noses sometimes."

"You do realize it's all I'll be thinkin' about the next time I see him, right?"

She saw him reach around for the handle and kindly hold the car door open for her on the passenger side, urging her to scoot in before he closed it and slipped in behind the wheel. All sexual orientation aside, he found his thoughts wandering as they were gradually being ripped apart and invaded by the little nugget of information Andrew had shown him regarding Lockley and the extensive knowledge she'd likely already gleaned from the murders and the classified status of each one. It left him strangely vulnerable, yet still very much on the alert, combined with a fraction of uneasy tossed into the mix. It was a frightening and volatile assessment if there ever was one.

"Do you ever think about what you would've been doing today if you'd never met me?" Buffy flinched somewhat as she heard the engine roar to life and watched him peel away from the parking spot he'd snagged at the curb, fearing she'd brought it up at the wrong time and should have likely waited until he'd relieved himself of the additional stress with some training. Odd as it was, she was starting to look forward to those sessions more and more, and the thought of going another round with the punching bag by herself suddenly sounded a lot less appealing when he wasn't in the basement with her.

"It's rarely anything else," he admitted, as he placed the wrapped bundle his friend had given him beneath his seat. "I used to put so much faith in the law, Buffy. Harris and I worked long hours and we enjoyed every minute of it. It was fun and we'd sometimes stop to catch a bite afterwards. Just pissing away the time chattin' about nothing in particular. After all, we were the guys who tracked down cold-blooded murderers who slaughtered the foundation families were built on. There's a lot to be said for that, and I won't lie when I say it was all a lot simpler when I didn't know the truth of it. I recall willing myself to see past what was really going on 'cuz I didn't exactly give a bloody damn about any of the specifics. I'd have a little fun on the side with the women I'd pick up, too. You know all that, though, so I won't bore you with the- but now...well, it's all out there, ain't it? Nothing is like it used to be."

"So it's all you think about."

"It is, which is why I should probably tell you that we're actually being followed for real this time." He saw her immediately tense up out of the corner of his eye and start to look behind her, his palm inching its way up her left thigh as his fingers lightly squeezed it, gently shaking his head. "Relax, Slayer."

"Seriously?"

"No sudden movements or they'll know we're onto 'em. Keep still and act natural."

"I can't do both," Buffy snapped. "There's nothing natural about being still."

"Listen to me," he advised, still trailing the older model red pickup truck in his rearview mirror. "There's a gas station less than a mile from here with a small shop inside. I'm gonna pull in and get out, make like I'm gonna buy something. You sit tight in here 'til I get back."

"Can't I just go with you?"

"Sweetheart, you're not defenseless. If you needed to, you could take 'em all out by your lonesome. Chosen One and all that, remember? You don't have to try as hard to twist their wrist or break a few bones. Trust me, you can handle it."

"But I'd be assaulting an officer if that happened. They'd have a pretty good reason to put me back in prison again."

"Good point. Looks like we'll stick with my plan then."

As promised, he turned into the driveway up ahead and slid into one of the vacant slots directly across from the entrance to the store. The red pickup did the same, keeping its distance as it came to a halt beside an old Taurus occupying the lot furthest from the pumps and approximately twenty feet from the door to the mini mart. The driver never exited the vehicle, and the flap above them was conveniently positioned in front of the face to shield their features from view, the sun's rays making it almost impossible to make any sort of distinction regarding a proper identification.

"Don't move a muscle, Goldilocks." He let himself out and casually draped himself over the open window, a gorgeous smirk falling across his lips as he bought himself a few minutes. "Anything I can get you while I'm inside?"

"Oh, gee, now that you mention it, maybe a little helping of trying not to get killed."

"Wasn't on the agenda, pet, but I adore your use of sarcasm." And with that, he was gone, disappearing inside the store just as the owner of the pickup anxiously hopped off the seat and began strolling up to the compact building at a fairly rapid pace in his wake. The gait indicated to Buffy that it was a woman, but her face was adorned with a pair of thick black sunglasses, her head covered with the same baseball cap she'd seen among the photos Andrew had put up for them back at the house. Her hands were buried deep within the ratty pockets of the jean jacket that covered her tall and slender frame, and she wore a pair of brown leather cowboy boots on the bottom half of her ensemble, most of which were covered by bootleg jeans so that only the tips remained visible. The hair that was tucked beneath the hat was a shade of blonde just a smidgen lighter than her own.

She didn't spare a single, solitary glance Buffy's way, and the slayer saw her brush past Spike's car and promptly enter the mart by way of the doors he'd passed through seconds before, headed toward the back with long, swift strides.

"Crap," she whispered.


	16. Chapter 16: Sleeping Dogs

Chapter Sixteen: Sleeping Dogs

_Gas Station_

9:18 AM

Spike sensed her before he heard her.

He continued to focus his attention on the bag of potato chips he'd repeatedly turned over in his hands, pretending to meticulously study the jumbled group of words adorning the back, his blues subtly widening when he caught the amount of salt for a single serving. _Bloody hell_. If this was the way of the future, it clearly didn't look any more promising than the past. It wasn't the least bit surprising that humans were dropping like flies from heart attacks when he couldn't even pronounce half the sodding ingredients inside. He thanked whatever higher powers who may have been listening that his status among the undead allowed him to consume as much as he wanted without clogging his arteries. Sometimes being a vampire had its perks. The breakfast he'd ordered the other day was proof enough of that.

The sound of cowboy boots across the linoleum grew steadily closer, and Spike slowly returned the item to the shelf and turned around to confront the owner of the red pickup parked out front, very calmly raising his hands in a gesture of good faith. "Agent Lockley."

"What gave me away?" came the clipped reply, as he felt himself being shoved roughly into the nearest wall, narrowly avoiding a broken nose while her rough grip irritated the bleeding heck out of his shoulder blades.

"Must be your perfume." He professed a wince when he felt a pair of handcuffs being clamped over his wrists, the cold metal tearing into his skin as she went about dutifully tightening them.

"William Pratt, you're under arrest for the murder of Harmony Kendall. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and probably will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. In addition to the first charge, we'll go and add aiding and abetting to the list on account of the fact that you've been harboring a fugitive and have conspired with her to commit-"

"Right then," Spike cut her off, rolling his eyes. "You know, far be it for me to dispute the notion that you're doing a bang up job here, pet, 'cuz you are. You really are. But the truth of it is, that bit's gone stale. Last I checked, a meeting is supposed to be civil on behalf of both parties. Imminent violence is usually optional. 'Sides, we never even got around to settin' anything up if I recall, so this isn't entirely my fault now, is it? I never agreed to it. That's all on you. You wanted it that blooming much, but couldn't keep your knickers from gettin' twisted when I failed to contact you. What's more, I already know you came alone. No backup, no men, nothing. Not a thing. Just you, and only you. I would have picked up on the other tail the minute I made yours." He smiled lazily, as he faced her again and tilted his head to the side. "Oh, and by the by. The fear I can smell on you is absolutely delicious. There was a time when I would've taken full advantage of that."

"Are you forfeiting your right to an attorney?" Her voice wavered slightly and she took a single step back, reaching for her weapon in the holster at her hip. "Because let me assure you that where you're going, you'll definitely be needing one."

"Bollocks," he murmured. "Look, we don't need weapons for this. I'm not prepared to go willingly, mind you, but you don't need to resort to-"

"Oh, I think I do," she insisted. "See, it doesn't matter if it's just me. It also doesn't matter if it's the two squad cars I could have surrounding this location in less than five minutes if I wanted to. I've got just that much pull with this investigation. What you might be interested to know, is that you've been officially relieved of your duties and rank, Mr. Pratt. Whatever you may have been trying to do with that young woman ends now. She's going back to that facility after a heart to heart with the judge and an extended sentence, and you'll have your very own cell block right down the hall. If you're on your best behavior, maybe I'll find it in me to permit a weekly visit."

"She's not going anywhere," Spike stated very quietly. "Neither am I, for that matter. Your backup, on the other hand, could be a tad late, I'm afraid. Seems there's been a fairly recent sighting of two individuals matching a certain description near the likes of the border near Canada. Might be best if you check any incoming messages that may have come in on your micro, which I suspect you've turned off on account of what you're doing at the moment is illegal when it hasn't been filtered through the proper channels."

"You were granted a twenty-four hour furlough and refused to return a murderer who was temporarily released into your custody for the approved duration of same. You were also romantically involved with the second victim prior to her death and conspired to-"

"Conspired to what? If I wanted that daft chit dead I would've done it when I paid a visit to the Records Library the night of Jennifer Hart's murder. She was all alone when I got there, too, and shortly before that her ex honey gave it to me good at the crime scene. Shoved his gigantic fist right into my face and failed to give me a warning in advance. The only thing I ever had in common with Harm was great sex and that's hardly enough to sustain a proper relationship. She and I had a brief discussion about my shiner and she was out the door. Just 'cuz you found her in my apartment, doesn't mean I did it."

"You knew the details from the first crime scene," Kate insisted. "You were there and you saw the body."

"And what about Joyce Summers seven years ago? How in the buggering hell could I have been there when I wasn't even in the sodding states at the time? I don't practice that kind of magic, Lockley."

"No, but her daughter did, and I believe she convinced you to get her out so both of you could do it again. Finance your own killing spree."

"Then where does that leave Robert Hart's wife?"

"Joyce's daughter was in contact with you and she filled you in. Phone records can disappear so easily when you pay the right people off in prison."

"So just 'cuz you're a believer now, you-"

"Believer?" she repeated.

"Back when you worked the Lonely Heart case, and before you became a seasoned agent. You'd be surprised what they deny you admission to if you're not in the loop. You'll tell me I'm wrong, of course, but I'll bet it prompted you to do some research of your own, didn't it? After all, the killings just didn't make sense. Something about 'em seemed off to you. Just like the nature of the suspect."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore, because I know everything."

"How nice for you," Spike added, smirking. "You got a sweet promotion and a fancy little all access pass for your troubles. Found out what they actually fill those penitentiaries with while the uninformed people look the other way. I've got a partner who was of the same mind before I opened his eyes a bit more to the truth of it. We all got the memo on the magic, even if some of us weren't buying into the likes of what it all entailed. The cops made the arrests, but it was the big boys that knew the specifics of what those stupid ponces conjured. Demons weren't so lucky. They were classified as the black sheep and hidden away, concealed from the public so no one without clearance could find 'em."

"You know, I don't really feel like hearing any of your ridiculous stories right now." She withdrew her gun and trained it on him, releasing the safety. "But be advised that I'll be filing another charge against you in the intent to mislead law enforcement, and then we'll be taking a long ride down to the precinct so I can book you."

"No," he told her, as he brought his arms up and yanked them fiercely in opposite directions, swiftly severing the short chain holding the two cuffs together. Twisting each wrist with a profound crack, he gently withdrew the remaining shards of metal enclosed over them, and tossed them to the ground in pieces. The vampire refused to acknowledge the pain and the blood, as he pushed himself directly into her personal space, closing his fingers over hers and pressing the gun over his heart. "You won't, and it's not 'cuz you're doing a piss poor job of being in charge, either. If you even thought once about what that girl out there has been through instead of reviewing the so-called proof those wankers provided you when you agreed to take this on, you wouldn't still be standing here with me playing cat and mouse. We're not the ones you're after."

Kate's blue eyes continued to look deeply into his, her mouth trembling when she realized the sharp intake of breath she heard was her own, her hand shaking somewhat while she gradually began to lower her weapon to her side. Training her eyes on the toes of her boots, she slowly nodded, the gun slipping from her grasp as it fell to the floor. She waited awhile before she bent to retrieve it, returning it to its holster. "I know. I just had to make sure."

"Hey, should I, uh...should I call the police?" The young man who'd been manning the register hesitantly approached them and beckoned from several feet away, glancing from one to the other as he ran a hand apprehensively through his curly brown hair. "I mean, I really don't want any-"

"We are the police," they both said at once, still eyeing each other with a degree of uncertainty.

"Gotcha." He flittered past them and hurried to the double doors guarding what appeared to be a stock room, shutting them tightly behind him.

"You're bleeding."

Spike surveyed the damage to his wrists and merely offered her a brief shrug. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"Well, it looks pretty bad," she admonished. "Maybe you should use the restroom around back to wash up. I'm sure they've got some kind of first aid kit in there that you can use."

"I'll be fine."

She could only continue to stare at the wounds that had been inflicted as a result of his escape, her arms suddenly listless, her hands clenching themselves into fists. "Then I don't suppose you'd mind telling me how you did that, because in all my years at the Bureau I've never seen anything like it. I mean, it's...you know, I don't think I can even form a legitimate response right now. How is that possible?"

"Well, five minutes ago you had a gun trained on me and were prepared to charge me with two counts of murder. Neither of which I would have plead guilty to, but they would've had a lot on their plates once they put me away. Might've gone straight to solitary, too, so you'll have to forgive me if I decide to forego that request. Especially when I'm not even sure I can put stock in your honesty just yet."

"They don't know I'm here," she assured him quickly. "And if you're already leading them on a wild goose chase into Vancouver, it's probably better that way. You wouldn't want them here."

"Sounds like you're not too fond of 'em," he remarked thoughtfully.

"They're useful when they're not ruining lives to get answers, but it'd only complicate matters if I called them. Not that they're not complicated enough already as it is."

"You were at the Hart crime scene pokin' around. Mate of mine photographed you that night. I mean I more or less wagered the husband wasn't just gonna let this go, but I guess I underestimated how fast he moved on it by going behind our backs."

"A friend in D.C. suggested I give the wife a look because she suspected things weren't entirely copacetic on the home front. She was convinced Jennifer was cheating on him. Turns out she was right. I still can't get a face or a name, but I know it was the same guy who killed her. What I'm having difficulty piecing together yet is why he seems to be so focused on you."

"I'm convinced it's Buffy he's after."

"Buffy?"

"Elizabeth Summers, Joyce's daughter. See, the Hart bird died the same way as Joyce. To make a long story short, this bloke needed Buffy out of prison. Couldn't do it himself when he obviously lacked the resources, so that's where I came in. My partner and I got the call and drove on out to the hotel. That's where it all began and I'd bet some good cash it's far from finished. Our sketch artist Cordelia Chase happened to pick up on the similarities with both cases, and suggested I give it a look. I did. Didn't like what I found. Imagine havin' to spend seven years of your life serving time for something you never- but she's okay now. She's...well, she's gettin' there, at any rate. She's special. Can't tell you the why of it, but she is."

"Maybe, but I still need you to explain to me why your own background check is incomplete."

"I could," he reasoned. "Doesn't mean I will."

"I can help her, William. I have some pull with-"

"So all that stuff about keepin' my badge was just part of your little scheme to test me, was it?" He let his cerulean gaze wander to the dirty window of the shop, allowing it to linger for a bit longer than necessary on Buffy seated in his car, relieved that she'd listened to him and stayed put. "Just how thick do you think I am?"

Kate blinked, saying nothing for awhile as she pulled the baseball cap from the top of her head, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. "Excuse me?"

"I know who your father was, love. It's no secret that he advised you against becomin' involved personally in the cases you worked. You want the recognition, the glory."

"I visit my father every two weeks in a retirement home. The only competitive streak he has left is the number of games of Bingo he's won during Corn on the Cob Day. Aside from that, I highly doubt he has a bad bone in his body. He may have given me a push, but he didn't make me what I am, Detective Pratt. I did that all by myself. So whatever rumors you've heard are wrong, and I resent the implications you've made regarding something you don't know anything about."

"Could it be that the wicked witch is finally melting?" he quipped.

"I'd like to find out who this bastard is just as much as you do. He needs to pay for the lives he's taken. And from the little I _did_ manage to uncover about you, it made me wonder why you never applied to the Bureau with the skills you have, because they're nothing short of extraordinary. It's not that this whole mystery guy thing isn't working for you. I mean it is. A lot. It's just...call me curious, is all."

"I'm a small town boy."

"Okay, fine. Not the answer I was looking for, but I'll take it. I think we could both gain something from sharing what we have on these murders. Between the two of us, we should be able to come up with at least a handful of plausible theories as to why he's doing this."

"Got a profile all mapped out in that noggin of yours, do you?"

"I've deduced that our subject is a white male," she recited simply, retrieving a small disc from the back pocket of her jeans, as she waved it in plain sight. "I've documented just about all I know of him on here. We can make edits if you need to, but all indications are that he appears normal and adapts and blends to his surroundings quite easily, making it difficult for any of his potential victims to see him for the monster he really is. So it's likely he'll be both charming and attractive, but underneath it all, he's terribly malicious and is at best a loner. He doesn't form associations because he views them as frivolous and would have little time for any romantic connections. It's possible he was burned bad in his past and chooses females as his targets because he needs to teach them a lesson- show them who's in charge and who always will be. There's a sort of dominance present here that would feed into that delusional fantasy of his and give it hope to flourish under his ideals. He views himself as more than human, and as a result goes out of his way to learn his victims' habits, their routines. It's probably bordering on stalking in a way, but it's not enough to get him picked up by the cops. He'll introduce himself shortly after that and he'll try to gain their trust. He's never been married, although you have to admit that a breakup consisting of the threat induced variety is entirely feasible. If we're going to factor in the large gap between now and seven years ago, my initial theory is that it may have been the period of time in which he sought a kind of...salvation, if you will."

"Bloody brilliant is what that is. Like it or not, it's our guy."

"Yes, and I was thinking we could each take a shift and watch the areas closest to where the crimes were committed to see if he shows again."

"I can't see this one stopping by when the bodies are no longer there. We'd be wasting valuable time doing a stakeout."

"Then how do you want to do this? Either way, the son of a bitch needs to be put down."

"You may be familiar with how he operates now, but it doesn't mean we're prepared to go for a top spot and try and wait him out, 'cuz we'd wait too long. This takes planning, Lockley. The same kind of planning it took you to develop a picture of him in your head. You're forgetting the supernatural angle. The way in which those women died wasn't the least bit conventional. Sometimes the only way to fight that is to invest in it yourself. Learn the craft or find a sodding good teacher. Look, why don't we take my car to a quaint little joint a few blocks over and discuss this a bit more privately? The ladies are the highlight, of course, but it's actually clean and just off the-"

"You're talking about the strip club over on the boulevard, aren't you?"

"They sell plenty of alcohol there, too," he immediately pointed out. "Makes you lose track of all the scantily clad beauties who shimmy on over into your line of vision, so it's not all bad if you're in the mood to drown your sorrows with a pint and escape for a bit."

"The way you're feeling, you would probably have considered indulging today if you hadn't met the girl," she realized. "Buffy."

"We all have our vices, don't we? She's more of a miracle. Guess you could say we saved each other. Pity it was doomed before it even began."

She started trailing behind him as he walked in the direction of the doors he'd entered through, catching it as he held it open for her. "I don't understand."

"It's got nothing to do with her, and everything to do with me," he muttered. "It can't be avoided, and it's knawin' away at me every chance it gets. I'd rather not talk about it."

"Spike?" He didn't register the pair of arms being thrown around him until about a minute after it happened, his hands wrapping themselves around her slender waist as he drew her closer and spun her, burying his face in her shoulder as he breathed her in with air he didn't need. "Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay," she whispered.

"Right as rain, Goldilocks. Need to suss out a bit more first, but it appears we've got a new ally gettin' ready to bat for us." He reluctantly let go of her as she practically glared a set of daggers at the other woman before shifting her eyes back to him.

"Your wrists," she noted, running the pads of her thumbs over them, her pretty face failing to mask her confusion. "What did you do?"

"Ruined some handcuffs pulling a little magic trick of my own. Didn't go as well as expected, but I think I earned high marks in all categories."

"Spike-"

"Buffy, this is Agent Kate Lockley. Kate, meet Buffy."

"You so have to be kidding me," she sputtered.

"Just take it easy, yeah? She's-"

"It's like some kind of lame joke where I'm the only one who's unaware of the punchline. Maybe I _am_ the punchline. I mean how am I supposed to 'take it easy' and chill when you've just gone and accepted her into our little club before running this by the rest of us first? You need to call Xander. You really have to call Xander, because he should know how much of a bonehead you're becoming."

"Are you gonna mope about this well into the afternoon, or can we go someplace cozy to chat it all out? I'm sure you'd like that a whole lot better than stomping your tiny feet like a child, wouldn't you?"

"Someone might see us," she contended. "And for the record, my feet aren't tiny."

"Pet, please."

"Besides, how do we even know she came alone?"

"Well it's not just a hunch, so take my sodding word for it."

"I should probably just get the truck," Kate proclaimed, as she readjusted her baseball cap atop her head. "If they see it here, they'll know where we're headed. How about I just follow you and we'll meet there?"

"I think you've already got the following part down," he deadpanned, smiling.

"We need to fix up your wrists," Buffy urged him. "C'mon."

"No time. Let's just go. I'll be-"

"No, you won't." Tugging on his arm, he ultimately knew it just wasn't worth another argument and decidedly caved, giving her his unspoken permission to drag him along to the compact room positioned at the back of the mini mart. Finding it empty, she instructed him to stand there while she activated the dispenser and caught the thick paper towels that flowed out of it, running them beneath the long, curved faucet in the sink. "I don't see anything in here to treat those medically, but this'll have to do for now. Come over here and hold out your arms."

"Thank you, Nurse Buffy."

"You can joke all you want, tough guy, but those need to be seen to. I won't have my boyfr- my...my friend bleeding all over the car seats and staining the upholstery." She blushed a shade of pink he'd grown extremely fond of the past few days, tearing her eyes away from his to avoid the scrutiny while she saw to his wounds, gently running the damp paper towel over them as she wiped away the dried blood. "Wow, I guess you do heal fast."

"Buffy, look at me." When she acted like she hadn't even heard him, he gingerly clasped her chin between the thumb and index finger of his right hand, and lifted it toward him, his gaze so intent it made her heart quiver in her chest. "Please?"

"I messed up, all right? I didn't think before I said that, but you know it's not true, don't you? I swear I didn't want..." her voice trailed off, not quite sure how to gauge his reaction, very nearly afraid she'd succeeded in destroying something important. It was the same empty, glassy eyed stare a child got when they'd tracked mud into the house or had broken one of their mother's favorite glasses in the kitchen. Pure dread.

"I'm not mad, love. Flattered, maybe, but not mad. And I've never done this before, you know? Usually I'm the last bloke to look prior to leaping, and I usually settle for whatever bird'll have me. But with you, it's..."

"The slayer stuff," she finished softly. "Yeah, I know. Professional. It has to be professional."

"That's not what I-"

"I don't care for her. Kate Lockley."

He cringed at the abrupt change in subject, but mentally shifted their current discussion to accommodate her present ramblings, resolving to resume it later whether she wanted to or not. "Well, Harris was right about her lettin' me keep my job. She's not all bad, but I can tell there's some stuff she's not saying yet. Can't judge her, though, as I'm in the same bloody boat. If you count the part about me breakin' free of those restraints and almost revealin' what I am, it's safe to say we've both got to be more careful when we're out and about."

"She doesn't know about the demons?"

"Oh, she does, it's just that magic seems a lot easier to accept." He ran a hand over her head, smoothing out her hair. "Unless the demons in the facilities are disinclined participants in their screwed up invention of a carnival freakshow, they're basically left to rot away. A meal or two goes through the slot sometimes, but in retrospect, they're basically forgotten and abandoned for the monstrosities they are. It's easy to absolve one's mind of the fact that they exist, as they can't do a damn thing to warrant anyone's attention. It'd be the same for me. I'd be given a drug to maintain my game face and I'd be electronically shackled so I couldn't move a muscle. There'd be no way to keep up my bleeding strength and if they deprived me of what I needed to survive in plasma, I'd likely be dead. Well, deader than this, which is saying something."

"I don't want that."

"Me either, sweet bit. But it's inevitable sometimes."

"The claim was never the best bet for us then, was it?"

"That was a last resort," he reiterated. "A rather stupid one, now that we've thought about this a step further. It might bind you to me, but you'd feel everything they did to me if I was put away. 'Sides, you're not taking off on me now, anyway. If anything, I can't get rid of you." He laughed, his blues brightening. "But I haven't bitten a woman in years. Don't know if I'd even be any good at it anymore. A claim is when you're all caught up in the moment and lose track of what you- bottom line is, I couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to you."

"You could make me what you are," she suggested. "That would solve the whole immortality thing, and I'd be even stronger than I am now."

"_No_," he said firmly. "It's still no."

"But-"

"You barely know me, Buffy. You can't fathom what it's like when- you wouldn't have a soul, pet. You'd be void of feeling, a hollow shell of nothing but seething hatred. In case you need reminding again, I like what you already are. And that's a slayer. _My_ slayer. Found you first, I did."

"So how do you know Kate is cool with everything if you didn't give her the written?"

"I don't, but she sounded sincere enough back there. Talked about her dad some, too. She's also reached the same conclusions we have about the murders."

"But if she really knew what this was about, it'd mean she'd have to start accepting the world of fangs and bumpy forehead regions."

"It would," he agreed. "Listen, we'll deal with that whenever. In the meantime, though, you'll need to strip down to your skivvies and practice your sexy walk."

"My sexy walk? I think I speak for the both of us here when I say, huh?"

"Since you've been away, the club scene's gotten a great deal more...restrictive. Lockley can probably get by on account of her being dressed like a man, but you won't exactly be conforming to the rules with your girly hair and those pouty lips."

"Rules?" she hissed.

"Yeah. It's a gentleman only establishment, which means any of the ladies who've been granted entrance are there to work. Now, I know what you're thinking, and if you-"

"I will _not_ get naked in a strip club, Spike!"

"You don't have to, love. But I also know I'm through with keepin' you tucked away all by your bloody lonesome in the car. 'Sides, it would only _look_ like I was payin' you for a lap dance and it'd be your job to act like you can't keep your hands off me. Given the way you are about that already, I don't think we'll have a problem. It's also the least likely place the Feds are gonna pop in if they're on the prowl lookin' for us."

"Forget it. I'm not letting you parade me around like something you won at the Buffy circus. You're delusional if you think I'll just go along with this and be your little call girl."

"You're aware that we're not actually gonna have sex, right? What's more, you know who I am, you're comfy with me. I haven't done anything inappropriate-"

"Oh, oh! You are such a liar, mister...Liar Pants. What about in the car?" she countered, directing an accusing finger his way as she wagged it at him.

"Bugger it." He brought his eyes up heavenward, his fingers lightly pinching the bridge of his nose. "You responded to that. You got all dreamy eyed and-"

"Hey, there were no dreamy eyes. There were eyes, yes, but they weren't dreamy."

"Then we'll stop at a lingerie shop and get you a cute dress. We play it just right, you won't have to take it off. Probably let you in with it, too."

"You jerk." Grinning, she tapped his chest, mindful of his other injuries. "You were thinking about doing that the whole time, weren't you?"

"Yeah, you got me, Slayer. I'll confess to everything. Now hurry up and get a move on, yeah?"

"Yes, Master."

"Buffy, that's not funny."

"Lighten up, Spike, it was a joke."

"Joke or not, we're still gonna train when we get back, too. Lorne should have something nice and tasty waitin' for us to eat. And whatever you do, don't speak to the gents in the club. Women are expected to be submissive to men, and unless they approach you first, you don't say a bloody thing."

Her mouth just about dropped open. "For real?"

"I told you it was exclusive, didn't I?"

"How can they just let men have that much control over a woman? It's revolting and it's...degrading. If you ever tell me you actually tried it, I swear I might never speak to you again."

"I only went there if it pertained to an investigation," he confirmed. "Although, come to think of it, I had quite a few generous offers that one night to last me twelve bleeding lifetimes. I remember the second chit fairly well, 'cuz she was more than just a tad too friendly. Policy dictates that they can't make any moves that border on overly intimate unless you consent to it and complete an official transaction. It's more about show, rather than tell. She made a grab for the family jewels and I managed to get her charge to stick when I called Harris and had him arrest her for violating an officer. Never knew I was a cop, just an exceedingly disgruntled patron."

"You're totally making that up!"

"Am not. Ask Harris. He was right there with me. Unfortunately it didn't pan out as well for him, what with 'em grabbing what was in back instead of the front and adding yet another charge to the list. Poor sod. Seems he just gets the worst of it. He was scared silly that Red would somehow find out and swear him off for all eternity, too. I'd strongly recommend you don't bring it up when he's real vulnerable. You'll never hear the end of it."

"If we...I mean if you were able to do all the things normal people do, would you ever cheat on a woman if you-"

"Never," he stated quietly. "I'd cherish her like the beautiful girl she is and each time we- well, when we went and...the point is..." He stopped, shaking his head miserably, mentally cursing himself for his hesitation and the unavoidable humility of becoming tongue tied with her. He surmised that age was ultimately just a number in that respect- namely in comparison to the long life he'd already led. "I'd probably never be able to get my fill of her. Always thought that's how Dru and I would be, you know? Worshipped the ground she walked on, but it wasn't nearly enough. She gave me a new way of lookin' at the world and then she walked away. You don't intend for that to stay with you, but it does. Love never does quite work out like you want it to. S'pose that's why I'm its bitch."


	17. Chapter 17: Tempest in a Teapot

Chapter Seventeen: Tempest in a Teapot

1:27 PM

"A strip club called Willy's," Buffy Summers murmured, not bothering to hide her obvious displeasure for the establishment as she proceeded to scrunch up her nose in response, curiously watching Spike drive the vehicle through the entrance of the crowded parking lot and settle into one of the remaining vacant slots. "Really?"

The vampire cut the engine and sat there a moment, regarding her with a ghost of a smile before tilting his head to the side. "What's your point, love?"

Her green eyes narrowed as she struggled to decipher his expression, not entirely convinced he wasn't playing her. "Tell me you're not serious."

"Serious as the day I was born, although I don't exactly remember much of it. Anyway," he proclaimed, reaching for the pack of cigarettes he'd gone back into the mini mart for prior to their departure earlier, "I've seen the bloke that owns it. Short, stocky, dresses like he's always going to the beach. Don't know why he'd have cause to lie with a name like that." He feigned disinterest as he pried open the car door and swiftly made his exit, the corners of his mouth struggling against a smirk.

"You do know Willy is also short for William, right?"

He leaned across the open window and looked in on her, noticing that she hadn't moved an inch, her grin huge and her lashes fluttering. "Nobody's called me that since I got myself a soul, pet. First wanker who tried it would probably lose his privates."

"I guess that's appropriate then, isn't it?"

"Appropriate..."

"Yeah, because willy is just another word for the male penis," she added, nonchalantly shrugging.

He quirked a brow, unable to resist a laugh on her behalf, his blues widening just a tad. "That right?"

"Oh, c'mon! Like you didn't know."

"Doesn't matter," he muttered, as he tossed a glance behind him and spotted Kate Lockley getting out of her truck. "I'll pay you twenty upfront if you refrain from lettin' those pillocks in there know about your little revelation once we get inside. They're here for the girls, Slayer. Not to defend their manhood."

"Twenty upfront, huh? Gee, great way to kick this off."

"Wasn't implying that," Spike insisted. "It was just to make sure those lips of yours stay sealed so I can talk business with Lockley in peace. Wouldn't look good for us if we draw attention to ourselves and attract the wrong kind of company."

"I still can't believe you bought me this stupid dress," she grumbled.

"And we're back to the sodding dress again. Are there no limits to your powers of persuasion?"

She wriggled her butt in the seat as she fought to keep her cleavage from spilling out, her pretty face marred with a frown. "Does this mean I can take it off?"

"Be my guest. Those black boots should go nicely with the strapless bra and tiny knickers you're wearin' underneath."

"That's not what I-" She paused a moment, taking time to shoot him a vicious glare. "How do you know what I'm wearing under this?"

"I don't, and I could be wrong about the bra, but if it makes you feel any better, you can slip into something a little more comfy once we're back at Caritas."

"I can't even move my legs in it."

"Harm never seemed to mind," he affirmed offhandedly, as he went over to the other side and waited for her, hands on his hips.

"Harmony and I are nothing alike," she snapped, "and I resent the fact that you even bothered to compare me to her. How can you even-"

"It's _fine_, Buffy. You're a vision." He once again scolded himself for the worst buggering choice of words he could've possibly come up with. Truth be told, she was more than just a vision. The second Spike had caught sight of her emerging from the fitting room in the store, his eyes had nearly fallen out of their sockets. He couldn't recall himself ever being this fascinated by a woman in his hundred plus years- let alone feeling something that went far beyond sexual pleasure and straight into the realm of tripping over his own two feet whenever he was in her presence. He'd managed to avoid the feet part at all costs, but it was getting harder and harder not to give in and make her his. Not that he was going to openly admit it and risk sounding like a sorry excuse for a teenage poof on the night of his bleeding high school prom, but she was absolutely smashing in the short black cocktail dress with the slender straps that hugged her curves in all the right places. He didn't think anything he said would have actually done it any justice.

"Is she all right?" Kate asked him.

"Peachy with a side of keen," Buffy immediately vouched, as she let herself out of the car and straightened the cut of her dress. "Let's do this."

"You're more than welcome to sit this out, lamb. Doesn't have to be-"

"I'll play by your lame rules, okay? I don't like them, but I'll try and act the part. It shouldn't be _too_ difficult, especially considering what I had to put up with in prison, right?"

"What's she talking about?" the other woman prompted. "Pratt?"

Spike waved a hand in her direction before giving Buffy his full consideration, his cerulean gaze close to burning a hole in her green one. Enclosing his fingers around her arm, he pulled her several feet away, using a bit more force than he deemed necessary. She removed herself from his grip rather easily and successfully dodged his second attempt, making sure to step free and clear of him as she cradled her arms protectively over her chest. "Don't touch me."

"Bollocks," he breathed, unable to shake her ability to frustrate him like nobody else. "That's not what this is about, and you bloody well know it. I've never thought of you that way. Not ever. I won't let any of 'em lay a hand on you. Wouldn't dream of it. They've never made me for a cop and I don't see why they would now. I'm just a payin' customer. 'Sides, Lorne doesn't need the aggravation, 'cuz he's currently opening the place back up as we speak. Can't shut it down any longer, or else the regulars will start to get suspicious. Best we don't get in his way."

"Couldn't we have at least tried meeting at a restaurant then? Or what about a mall?"

"You caused quite a stir at that diner the other day, and we don't need the same thing to happen twice. It's well lit and people take notice. Same goes for a mall. If you recall, we're on the news now." He plucked a cigarette from its carton and cradled it between his index and middle finger without setting it ablaze. "Strip clubs go for dark and dank and the only thing those ninnies in there look at are the size of your-"

"Boobs and butt?"

"Well, yeah," he affirmed quietly. "Not like they'd be overly impressed by the size of your brain when they could care less with what's inside that cranium of yours. It's all about the assets, Summers."

"But I'm already lacking there."

"Oh, you're not. _Believe_ me, you're not. But if you're still unconvinced that I refuse to auction you off like a sodding lottery ticket to the highest bidder, you're welcome to wear my coat before we go in."

"Won't you be- oh, right," she professed, careful not to say the V word with Kate just a short distance away. "You don't get cold."

"I don't, although this gray sweater isn't half bad, either."

"Please, you're starting to get holes in it. It probably deserves its own name by now, because you sure as heck can't donate it."

"If that was an invitation to take me shopping, I'll politely decline."

"What's wrong with my shopping?"

"You take too bleeding long and I wouldn't be caught dead in some of those ridiculous ensembles."

"Little late for that," she managed between giggles.

"Here." Slipping out of his black pea coat, he gingerly draped it around her shoulders, and watched the warmth spread rapidly across her cheeks. His heart had ached to see it, and it was fairly indicative of the way in which she'd addressed him earlier at the gas station, just narrowly avoiding a slip of the tongue when she'd almost referred to him as her boyfriend. It made him wonder what they would've been to each other had they met at a different point in their lives and he was just a guy without the added frills of being a blood sucking creature of the night. Would she have even given him the time of day if he were just William? While it was true he'd retained a good portion of who he'd been prior to the change, there was still the matter of the shy, bespectacled poet to contend with, and he wasn't so sure it would have appealed to her, much less tickled her fancy back in the day.

"Thank you."

"Are you sure everything's okay?" Kate spoke up as she hesitantly approached them, her blues eyes staying on Buffy awhile before she turned to Spike. "We don't have to do this now if you'd much rather-"

"Keep your hat on and let me do the talking," Spike advised her. "We're just two guys out enjoyin' the afternoon with a girl who's lookin' for a job."

"Naturally I'd have to pick today to wear this outfit," the FBI agent mumbled, blowing out a breath.

"It's not like they'll know the difference. It leaves too much to the imagination. Some of 'em even spend the night here 'cuz they're too bloody knackered to leave and are still workin' off the effects of the alcohol in their system by morning. Doesn't stop 'em from hittin' the bottle again when they're still too drunk to see straight."

He was able to score the three of them a booth just to the right of the stage, where a tall, topless redhead was dancing for a man in the front row, clothed only in a white thong and a pair of matching pumps. To Buffy's surprise, Spike didn't glance her way once, and she couldn't help but feel a bit giddy inside. She shrugged out of the coat he'd loaned her and started to sit down, still plagued with thoughts of something that was currently on the verge of becoming more than just a mere probability. It was short lived, however, when the same man that had just occupied those thoughts impetuously tugged her onto his lap and allowed his hands to roam freely up her thighs, causing her to let out a high pitched yelp. Covering her mouth, she whipped her head from side to side to see if anyone had heard and was relieved to see the patrons seated in the other booths were otherwise engaged in whatever woman had arrived at their naughty beck and call to entertain them. "Sorry," she whispered.

"Relax, pet. I won't go any further than this."

She meekly nodded her head and saw him lean in closer to her ear, his lips less than an inch away. "You can move if you want. Makes it a tad more believable, yeah?"

"If I start grinding against you, we'll have a much bigger problem than me in this dress," she warned. "I think Lorne calls it Spike Junior. In here, it's called willy."

"Well, you've gotta do _something_," he urged her. "Need to make this look real."

"So why didn't you ever apply to the Bureau?" Kate asked as she slid in across from him, speaking over the loud throbbing music that pounded its way out of the speakers and into the club, its beat both irritating and monotonous as it surrounded them.

"Persistent, aren't we?"

"I investigate this kind of thing for a living. Humor me."

"I meant what I said before about being strictly small town. Never been one for shootin' hoops with the big leagues, and it's not 'cuz I don't think I'm capable. If anything, it's more of a personal preference."

"Personal preference or a fear of being compromised?"

"Beg your pardon?"

She leaned in and lowered her voice a fraction, a fleeting smile gracing her countenance. "The mirror behind you. I'm thinking about calling it a trick of the light, otherwise I might as well be talking to myself right now. Since I already know that's not the case, I can't help but wonder if what they say about them is true."

He returned the smile and slipped some loose change into the mini vending machine perched at the edge of their table, programming in a can of beer. "Mirrors don't lie?"

"Exactly. I assume you're familiar with the tale of Narcissus?"

"A lesson in mythology, is it?" Spike popped open the can and took a long, refreshing sip. "And here I thought we were actually gonna discuss those last two homicides. Dive real deep into the lot of it and suss out a few answers in the wake of those horrible murders you nearly had me arrested for."

"What's a Narcissus?" Buffy inquired.

"No talking, love, remember?" Spike adjusted her position so she was sitting on his lap and facing away from him, a hand securing itself around her waist.

"I just wanted to-"

"Narcissus was a hunter from the territory of Thespiae in Boeotia who was widely known for his good looks," Kate filled her in. "Nemesis led Narcissus to a pool and he saw his reflection for the first time and fell in love with it. He couldn't grasp that it was only an image. He never left that spot and that's where he died. It's where the term narcissism comes from. It also means I know Detective Pratt can't possibly be human."

"You've deduced all that from a sodding myth, have you?" he persisted, realizing with some dismay that he'd once again gotten careless as a result of looking out for a girl instead of looking out for himself. Before he'd met Buffy, it was like second nature. He'd never slipped. "It ever occur to you that whatever's in here could've been deliberately designed to give off the effect of an illusion? The strobes take care of it well enough up front."

"But there's hardly any light," she pointed out. "You said it yourself, so your argument is basically invalid."

"Need an excuse to arrest me again, is that it?"

"I don't imagine it's a confession you're used to, but with each minute we lose, he's choosing whoever fits the role of his next victim. These last two have been female in roughly the same age bracket."

"Well, you were clearly on the mark about his relationship history with the profile you fed me, weren't you? And while it's entirely plausible he was seeking salvation during that seven year time gap, I'd wager it isn't even remotely the kind of salvation you're used to. The type he sought made him a monster. A raving lunatic who's tryin' to draw me and the bird out so he can finish what he started. Say what you will about me, Lockley, but I'm hardly on the same plane as our deranged Merlin is. There's no reasoning with him and when he feels he's up to full power again, he'll add you to his list as a casualty. I'd tell you to walk away, of course, but you're too stubborn for that, aren't you?"

"Is that what you are?" she countered. "Some kind of demon?"

"I've got one inside me, yeah. It's not all I am, though."

"Vampire then. Am I getting warmer?"

"You weren't lyin' about doing your research." His eyes briefly flashed amber in the dimly lit atmosphere before they reverted back to his natural shade of blue, aptly sliding his empty beer can into the recycler beneath his feet. "Ten to one they left out the soul."

"Soul?"

"I fought to have mine restored some years after I became what I am. Means I have a conscience. I feel genuine remorse for my actions like any other sorry sod out there who's tryin' his damndest to make amends. Felt it a tad before I got one, too. The soul just made it a mite clearer. Trials hurt like the dickens, but they got me to where I am today."

"You're telling me the guy we're looking for already knows this."

"If it's the same one I encountered not long after I was turned, he's none too pleased with me. But like I said, it's not me he really wants. It's her," Spike acceded, indicating Buffy.

"She's not a demon."

"Not in the purest form of the word, love. The origin of her powers, however, would strongly beg to differ with that assessment."

"Should I be sorry for asking, because this isn't exactly what I had in mind. I know it's all out there, but I'm not really used to being this open about it."

"I told you you were wildly off base back there, but headstrong chit you are, you didn't see fit to drop it. Figured as much. Bottom line is, if I'd knocked off Harm I would've bit her- drained her and left her for dead. While it's true both of our victims were drained, neither of 'em had two tiny holes in their necks, which means magic was used. We're talking full-on black arts, too. The works. A warlock called Rack recently broke out of prison and had his powers returned to him. Went after a good friend of mine and tried to kill her."

"I received the bulletin on that one, and they're definitely aware of it," Kate noted. "I didn't hear about anyone being admitted to the hospital, though, so unless you tell me her name I can't check her status."

"No need. Already got her to safety and patched her up myself. She's stayin' with and is under the care of someone else I know. We believe our guy is usin' Rack for his magicks."

"That's certainly one way to look at it."

"As it stands, I'd normally be in favor of carryin' on with this for hours on bleeding end, but you've barely given me a single speck of information that I didn't know already. I could just as easily tell you everything I've confessed is flat out fabrication, but I've decided to trust you 'cuz my gut's telling me to."

"My gut isn't telling me anything, because I'm guessing she already knows what a slayer is." Buffy bestowed the other woman with a look that resembled contempt, shoving herself out of Spike's lap and onto the cushion of the booth, reaching for his coat to cover herself.

"Leave it, Buffy."

She turned to him then, her green eyes challenging him with all measure of equal defiance. "I have to use the restroom."

"Yeah, but you don't need the-"

"Yes, I do, because I'm not leaving this booth dressed like a slut."

"You're really gonna risk giving yourself away just to spite me?"

"Do you care?" she retaliated, as she slipped up and over the booth, smoothly avoiding him as he grabbed for her. She slipped the coat over her petite frame and started buttoning it, her fingers shaking as she struggled to complete the task. "You're too busy jibber jabbering to Miss FBI Credentials like you've known her for years. Has it ever occurred to you that she could still be playing us despite your stupid gut? She's probably trying to get on our good side so she can make her move. She _apparently_ already knows what's really out there and you're quick to stir the pot by telling her all your little secrets to confirm it. Does putting you in the slammer ring any bells, because it sure does for me. First you try to buy me off- unsuccessfully I might add, and then you give me a dig about your lame ex-girlfriend, who, oh, by the way, is extremely dead now and is probably better off considering what she had to put up with. And that's if her body keeps. You know, you say you want to help me, but it's not like you can bring back my mom or miraculously erase the day they hauled me off to prison and booked me. All you like to do is demean me sexually and treat me like one of the airheads who works here."

"Oh, for God's sake, Buffy. You've been throwin' yourself at me since the day we met. Offered to give it to me nice and good for free in prison and when I declined you sodding refused to let it go. I was being a bloody gentleman, but according to you, that still makes me a monster. I've already told you why things are the way they are, and if you saw today a bit differently, the only-"

"I don't think this arrangement is working for me anymore. I'm gonna use the restroom and then I'll call Xander and have him come get me."

"You bleeding well will not!"

"Well, I can't just sit around here and wait for someone to make me their lab rat, can I? At this point, some insane magical psycho wanting to kill me is a lot more appealing than what anyone else has planned. So if you'll excuse me, Detective Pratt, it was fun while it lasted, but one way or another I'm just not cut out for waiting."

On her way to the bathroom, a hand proudly extended itself and gave her butt a quick squeeze, the owner an elderly man with glassy eyes and a thin mop of white hair on his head, his toothy grin eating his entire face as he made a clicking noise and winked. Disgusted more than ever, Buffy fled to the sanctuary at the end of the hall and activated the locks behind her, sinking down to floor level as she began to weep.

She was tired and she just wanted to go home. She'd wanted it up until the part where she remembered she didn't _have_ a home. The facility had been the only home she'd known for the past seven years. And as much as she welcomed Lorne's company, his bar was only a poor substitute before she was eventually shuffled around from place to place again, and with so few possessions to really call her own. She envied the women who lived their lives free of worry and fear and wondered if she'd ever be like them again.

She had a lot to thank Spike for. She really did. But when it came down to it, he was essentially the catalyst that had spurned what could only be described as a crisis of faith. He wasn't human and he never would be. A vampire and a slayer weren't meant to join forces to fight evil because it was the obligatory rule of thumb that their natures always clashed and had them at each other's throats, engaging in a duel to the death. Buffy told herself she wasn't ready to give up on him just yet. She needed so badly to show him that there was some sort of agreement to be made in this. The sad thing was, he was right to an extent. She'd gone about it all wrong and the only person to blame for that was herself. He hadn't done anything she hadn't wanted him to do, and he'd even helped her with those guards.

In prison, it had been simple. Too simple. She'd surrender her body, but her spirit was always somewhere else. When they were thrusting inside her, it was all about surviving the moment and just getting through another day. And she had. She'd gotten it down to the same daily repetitious routine and did what she could to comply with every threat and refrain from violating the company codes. She decided today that she was through following rules. Rules were of the bad and too reminiscent of everything she'd lost.

"Buffy?"

His voice strangely comforted her, but she didn't speak, silently swiping at the tears that continued to taint her cheeks.

"In case you're forgotten, I can smell you, pet, so whatever little scheme you've cooked up to ignore me won't work."

"Go away," she managed, surprised by how meek she still sounded when it came out as more of a croak.

"Not 'til you explain that little outburst back there. You're lucky someone didn't fetch the manager and blow you in."

"Oh, so that's it, isn't it? The only one you were worried about was yourself."

"You know that's not true."

"No? Well, it really doesn't matter, does it?" she taunted. "Xander's picking me up and I'll be out of your hair for good."

"You didn't call Xander, love."

"How would you know?"

"None of the phones in this hallway have been activated to start a session, that's why. Even if you would've contacted Harris, you can't believe for one second that I'd ever let you go with him."

"You can't stop me, Spike. I don't belong to you. I'm not-"

"You don't belong to anyone," he finished for her. "I know. But if you were mine, I'd never stop showin' you how precious you are. If you were mine, Buffy, there wouldn't be a day that went by that you didn't feel loved." He uttered what could have been the beginning of a laugh, but seemed to choke on it, his tone barely audible. "I watched you this morning. Was awake before you and I watched you. Just like I did after that first night you spent in my apartment. Hated like hell to tear myself away, too, 'cuz it's been too bloody long since I've felt anything like that."

She could feel the tears start to fall again, and she angrily rid herself of them with the back of her hand. "Anything like what?"

"I meant it when I said you've ruined me. Bringin' you here was never supposed to demean you, sweetheart. I just needed a place where I could talk all quiet like and not have to think about anyone finding us and taking you away. Those songs they play here make it impossible to be overheard by anyone who hasn't had too many. Don't know how I could live with myself if I let you become what you were before. I think about how it must've been in that cell for you, and something inside me always snaps. You've had to follow a set of guidelines for seven years and I went and threw a couple more on you today without any regard for how it made you really feel. Wasn't sure about Lockley at first, but she wants to help you, and maybe if you sat down with her a bit and told her what you've been through-"

"You like her, don't you?"

"Makes you insanely jealous, doesn't it? Might account for the hissy fit you threw back there and why you've gone and hidden yourself away in here like a sodding recluse. But in answer to your question, yeah, I like her. She's not at all what I expected, but that's as far as it goes."

"Good for you."

"Open the door, Buffy."

"No."

"Please? I'll break it down if I have to, and seeing as you're technically still my prisoner and under my supervision, I'd have to cite that in my report for destruction of property. It would kill me to file the paperwork, especially with the jam you've already put me in. As painful as this is for me to admit, I gave that old tosser out there a bit of a thrashing for grabbin' your tush, and by some odd miracle he was too wasted to know what hit him. Quite literally in fact, 'cuz by thrashing I strongly suspect he'll have some bruises to answer for when he finally sobers up and faces his own pathetic reality."

"I didn't ask you to do that."

"You really don't get it, do you?" he pressed, the inquiry wrought with emotion. "When it comes to you, Slayer, there's still little I _wouldn't_ do. Hasn't changed. Thought I was pretty much upfront with that on more than one occasion. I care about you more than I should, and I admitted as much the day I first saw you in that wretched prison. We're advised against it and even with what I am, it's practically unheard of."

"Since when have you ever-"

"That's just it. I never really have, and I was a right jerk for thinkin' I could expect it from you. You loathe rules and regulations just as much as I do- if not more so. But this whole flirting thing is another matter altogether."

She nodded even though he couldn't see her, wiping her fingers over her wet lashes. "I'm willing to overlook it if you are. It's just a screwed up part of who I am, and I see that now. I didn't before because I was just so used to it. Not all men are selfish and-"

"Summers."

"Can you call Xander, Spike?"

"No, and I can see I'm havin' an awfully hard time of it gettin' through to you."

"Kate has his number, too, doesn't she?"

"Right then. You win."

"Win..."

"I'll call Xander for you, love, but first I'd like my coat back. We have a deal?"

"You're not gonna-"

"If this is what you really want, then this is what you'll get. Seems reasonable, doesn't it?"

"I...I guess. Yeah. And I'm really sorry about the coat. I shouldn't get in the habit of trying to take things that aren't mine. Great way to get charged with something all over again, huh? I'd definitely be guilty of this one."

"I don't mind that you took it, pet. I may have given you the third degree about it back there, and truth be told, I just wasn't thinkin'. But if you're gonna crash with Harris, I'd like it back before you do or else I fear I might never see it again."

"Right. Sorry." Convinced he was indeed referring to the clothing, Buffy slowly moved to deactivate the lock mechanism, startled when the coat dropped to the floor and she felt herself being cradled and lifted into a pair of strong, familiar arms. She was forcibly pushed back inside, a chill running down her spine as he hoisted her up against the cold door, his mouth plundering hers in a desperate, bone-melting kiss. Her knees turned to jelly, and it took every ounce of concentration she still possessed to lazily hook her legs around his waist to prop herself up and hold herself steady. His lips traveled lower and descended to her jawline, following the smooth path to her neck, his blunt teeth nibbling softly on the tender skin. She shut her eyes and eagerly tilted her head back, allowing him the access he needed while she stifled a moan. When her feet finally touched base with the ground again, she couldn't bring herself to pry open her closed lids, scared to death at what she'd find in his eyes when she looked at him.

"Buffy?"

"I'm good. I'm really...I mean I understand."

"Don't think you do, Goldilocks. I really don't think you do."

"I understand perfectly," she assured him. "More than that, actually, which is new for me, you know? We have to stay in the friend zone, and you were showing me how that _really_ isn't the way to go about it. Eternity is a curse, remember? You can't afford to be involved like that. Besides, I was about to come out of here, anyway. I don't need to be bribed."

Spike put some space between them as he crinkled his brows. "Are you here with me, Slayer?"

"What? Duh, where else would I be?"

"I just feel like we're on different pages, is all."

"Please don't spoil this," she pleaded, plastering a quick smile on her face. "It was nice, but that's it. You said it can't be anything else."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Wasn't tryin' to spoil it. I actually came to tell you that I ch-"

"I know," she supplied hastily, "and whatever it is, it sounds like you should be keeping it to yourself. It was me, Spike. It was all me, and you tried to tell me that before. I just couldn't see it. You're a vampire and I'm a slayer. Vampires live forever and slayers don't. We're friends in the same line of work. It's like you and Kate. From now on, I'm goal oriented job girl."

"That's not what I meant."

"Hey, no big. You made a mistake. Like I said, I'm over it."

"Whatever the lady wants," he acceded, throwing up his arms.

"Great. I'll just wash up and then we can make the call."

"I'll wait for you out here."

"Okay, be right there."

"Yeah." Spike disbanded the lock and tugged open the door, never anticipating the large hands that suddenly clamped themselves over the front of his sweater and heaved him into the far wall, a profound crack echoing in his ears as his back slammed into the tiles. His attacker instantly advanced on him, dragging him into an upright position by his hair and brutally shoving him against the sink. On the verge of blacking out, Spike weakly glanced up and met a human face with a pair of eyes consumed entirely by two big pools of darkness.

"He can see you now," it spoke ethereally. "He can see everything."


	18. Chapter 18: Face the Music

Chapter Eighteen: Face the Music

_Willy's Strip Club_

2:03 PM

_He can see you now. He can see everything._

Be that as it may, the only thoughts still running through Spike Pratt's head when he felt a fist connect with the right side of his jaw were of Buffy. He struggled to get his bearings and ignore the pain coursing through his injured spine, repeatedly trying to convince himself that he'd been through a hell of a lot worse. But the plausibility factor was waning with that same old tired excuse, and he needed to hang on long enough before it wore itself out. If the man standing in front of him was any indication, it could only mean one thing. The upside was that he hadn't been pummeled into a speck of bloody dirt on the ground yet and he strongly contemplated making a phone call seeking some desired reinforcements while he was still lucid. Rupert had failed to apprise him of the latest happenings within the coven and it likely meant the slayer was still vulnerable, too. Her strength was already impressive, but he hadn't gotten through every level of training with her to qualify for a fight of this caliber. He could only hope she was competent enough to hold out against the threat if he wasn't able to.

At the moment, he wasn't faring any better than he was five minutes ago, and the very evil Calendar had vowed to shield him against was currently in the process of disintegrating under its cleverly constructed barrier with nary a scuffle. It told him that whoever was deliberately invoking trouble was damn good with how they were going about it and knew just which buttons to push. When the same pair of hands clamped tightly around his neck, Spike nearly laughed at the sheer stupidity of his opponent, watching with some satisfaction as the man lost his balance and stumbled rather clumsily from the head-butt he'd given him, careening into the wall directly behind the toilet. Uttering a low growl in his throat, the dark-eyed patron gained momentum and pushed himself up off the tiles, thoroughly rejuvenated and intent on charging his vampiric target again.

He never made it.

Spike steadied himself, placing his hands on the sink at his back and glanced up to find Buffy standing over the unconscious form of the wanker who'd attacked him only seconds ago, her tiny hands proudly slanted against her hips. It was then that it dawned on him as to why he'd picked up on the vaguest sense of familiarity prior to becoming an immortal piñata at their mystery assailant's expense. That bastard who'd done a good job tearing him a new one, was the same bloke who'd been exceptionally engrossed in watching the redheaded stripper flaunt her moves on stage during their arrival. He was of a reasonably average height with a small, slender build, and it would have clearly been a stretch to say he'd put in some time at the gym recently. And unless he'd invested in a pair of fancy contact lenses illegally, which were currently prohibited under the suspicion that those who used them were practicing, there was little to explain the pitch black eyes outside the realm of possession.

"Nice right hook, pet."

She slowly nodded as she began to examine the fist that had slugged the man lying on the floor at her feet, her green gaze a little shocked at the sight of the colorful bruises taking shape across her knuckles, her hand shaking slightly as she uncurled it to flex her fingers. "Thanks."

He knelt down and carefully turned the body over, retrieving the wallet that sat snugly in the back pocket of the man's khaki's, quickly pulling out the identification card that occupied the second flap. "Stephen Patrick."

"Two first names," Buffy observed, rolling her eyes. "So not a good sign."

Spike smiled as he studied the information in front of him. "Says he's employed as a mechanic at a shop in Glendale. Place called Bert's Garage. Bet he's a regular here."

"Which means whoever did this to him knows he's a regular, too," she pointed out. "How's your back?"

"I'll live," he muttered, as he raised himself to a standing position and withdrew a pair of cuffs, roughly clamping one over Stephen's left wrist and dragging him to the pipe that resided below the sink, latching the remaining cuff onto it. "Don't wager this'll hold him for long, but-"

The screams that rang out through the door followed by a round of random, rapid fire gunshots, had him sharply looking up and meeting Buffy's terribly frightened gaze, his own countenance shifting into game face as he took off running in the direction of the sitting area. There were chairs haphazardly strewn about, and any of the tables that hadn't been bolted to the ground near a booth had been tipped over onto their sides, beer bottles and broken wine glasses littering the previously spotless hardwood. Whatever had infected the overenthusiastic consumer in the restroom had already spread to the remaining customers and employees that continued to populate the vicinity, their eyes revealing the same pools of never-ending nothingness. Kate was in the process of delivering a solid roundhouse kick to a woman several inches shorter than her, backhanding her hard across face when her previous move failed to have the desired effect, finally knocking her out cold seconds before another one moved in for the kill. Her gun had somehow found its way up onto the stage and was awkwardly trapped between a pile of awkwardly stacked boxes and props that appeared to be keeping one side of a long, thin curtain parted.

"Oh my God," Buffy whispered.

Spike gave her arm a reassuring squeeze before stepping headfirst into the ongoing chaos. "So, uh, is this a private party or can anyone join in?"

Every single black pair of eyes in the room suddenly stopped whatever they were doing to focus on him, the air eerily quiet. They opened their mouths in hungry, toothy grins as they began to advance upon the vampire and his slayer, their steps calculated and deliberate while they gradually went about surrounding them, boxing them both into a fairly tight circle with little to no means of escape. Apparently it meant that the objectives were acquired, because Kate became no more than a blip on their radar, her chest heaving wildly as she struggled to combat the rush of adrenaline she still felt.

"You remember what I taught you, love?"

She turned to him, her expression unreadable. "Stop calling me love."

"Right then. Anger, is it? That's good." He forcefully yanked her chin towards him, his lips inches from hers. "Use it."

She immediately pulled away and jammed the toe of her boot into the solar plexus of a man with long, stringy hair, propelling herself into the fight and drawing them into her turf. She dove toward a chair that had been turned upside down and snapped off two of the four bottom legs, finishing him off with one of them as she stabbed him through the heart, tossing the other into the leg of the bartender she'd seen manning the counter upon making her initial entrance. She watched with some trepidation as Spike was slammed on top of a table, the planks breaking beneath his weight as he fell right through it, the perpetrator the same elderly man who'd copped a feel on her way to the bathroom. She guessed there must've been some inkling of a personality intact, because the relentless way in which he started wailing on Spike's demon visage was agonizing to watch, her drive to protect him overwhelming the need to stay on her side of the ring. When she was grabbed from behind, she brought her heel down over the shoe of her captor and elbowed him in the chest, his limp form catapulting into the edge of the stage. She wrapped a hand on either side of his head and twisted, his neck snapping itself like a twig as he fell away from her.

She'd never killed a human being before, and she stood there numbly glimpsing yet another one of the dead she'd selflessly inflicted violence upon, blindly caught in a distracted haze where the means to survive had been tainted with cold blooded murder. She repeatedly questioned whether or not she could and should blame herself for what had become of people whose innocence had been corrupted for the sake of some stupid game. Her own innocence had left her in much of the same way, eventually succumbing to measures that were always beyond her control. Her hands were now coated with a coppery metallic scent, and judging by the amount of damage she'd already done here, it was safe to say she was a slayer through and through. She didn't need Spike's confirmation and acceptance anymore where destiny was concerned. It was stirring something inside of her and she didn't want it to leave.

"Buffy."

She looked up to see Kate on the stage, retrieving her gun from where it had fallen and placing it in the back of her jeans, the older woman's blues laced with genuine concern. "I'm okay," she murmured.

"Are you sure?" the FBI agent added, her voice soft and unyielding.

"I'm sure. I just..."

"It was the song," she added helpfully. "When the song changed, they did, too. I can't really explain it, but they changed. All of them."

"You weren't affected, though, were you?"

"No, which means whoever is responsible for this attack didn't intend for us to make it out of here alive. They knew exactly where we were and needed to keep us from leaving. Look, as much I don't like saying this, it's probably best if I just call in backup and stick around for the cleanup. They'll have questions for you if you stay, and I don't think they're anything you and Detective Pratt should be answering right now. Especially since you two are wanted for evading law enforcement to begin with."

"I'm thinking yes. Did I...did I do most of that?" The club resembled a decimated war zone, its carnage spread far too wide to ignore. When she caught a faint movement out of the corner of her eye, she whipped around with grace and speed, prepared to take on whatever else was about to rise from the rubble, her muscles sore but tense.

"Wasn't just you," Spike informed her gruffly, as he lifting the rest of his broken body from the debris, his handsome face littered with a variety of cuts and bruises, his right eye almost completely swollen shut. His sweater had essentially been torn to shreds, drops of dried blood lining the legs of his tattered jeans.

"You two need to get out of here," Kate emphasized. "_Now_."

"Have to work out some way to contact you first."

"Don't worry about that," she contended. "If I need to reach you, I have my ways. I'll comb this place inside out before I call them, but I need to get it cordoned off to the public before anybody else walks in. I'll lock the doors after you leave. You were never here, you hear me?"

"They'll find Buffy's prints. Might be best if you-"

"Like I said, I'm already on that. You two just get yourselves gone. Are we clear?"

"I'll owe you more than just one, Lockley."

She grinned as she touched the black and blue mark already forming along the edges of her collarbone. "Yeah, well you haven't seen the last of me, so I'll probably be by to collect. I'm failing at explanations here myself and anything would be better than telling my superiors I just fought off a group of people who were in desperate need of an exorcism."

"Reckon it's the only sane explanation you've got. Anything else just wouldn't cut it. Tell 'em one of these guys got deep into the magicks and you received a tip spellin' out their whereabouts. They'll buy it in a heartbeat."

"Just find me a name," Kate advised him. "By the time we run down the list of everything this piece of garbage is responsible for, he'll never see the outside of his comfortably padded jail cell. We'll have him in isolation for the rest of his life."

"You'll be keepin' him in it a bleeding long time if he's immortal."

"Hadn't thought that far ahead yet," she admitted, smirking. "But I'll be in touch."

"Countin' on it." Without bothering to wait for Buffy, Spike hightailed it to the front exit, throwing open the door with enough force to shatter the hinges. Once he was settled inside his vehicle, he revved the engine, cutting it when he noticed she hadn't yet opted to join him, her petite frame standing about a foot away with her arms crossed defensively over her chest. He adjusted his rearview, breathing a sigh he never needed. "Buffy, get in the car."

"I'm good right here," she declared.

"Get in the car before I have to put you in here myself."

"Are you sure you don't- I mean maybe you should go back in there and clean yourself up. Lorne might freak if he sees you arriving at Caritas like that."

He gritted his teeth, her persistence doing nothing to calm his nerves. "Lorne might do a lot of things, Slayer, but freaking out isn't one of 'em. Now shut your gob and get in the damn car before I make good on my word and show you that I'm not joking."

"He's testing you, isn't he?"

"Who?" came the short tempered reply.

"Whoever wants to kill me," she filled in. "He wants you to embrace your true nature so he can get you to turn on me. He needs you to feel what it's like to savor it again- like you used to do before your soul. He's trying to bring out the animal in you. It's always there, right? Just below the surface?"

"That's a sodding load of crap."

"He took their innocence because he wanted to make you forget yours. I'm not off base here," Buffy told him, "and if you would wake up long enough to see what's right there in-"

"I did, and low and behold, wakin' up is not what it used to be. I actually prefer wallowing, 'cuz at least you don't have to fess up to what you lost and can continue on your merry way without the guilt trip. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to be gone from this pathetic excuse for a hidey hole before Lockley's fellow agents arrive with weapons blazing and accusations running amuck."

She settled herself inside the passenger seat with more than just a little reluctance, her arms remaining glued over her chest after she'd secured her seat belt, her green orbs zeroing in on a speck of lint on her dress. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

"Might want to be a tad more specific there, pet. Doing what? And to whom, exactly?"

"Me," she stammered. "I hate it when I see you hurting like this and if I did anything, I'm sorry, okay?"

"Well, that's just it, ain't it? You no longer have the right to know. Work buddies don't tell each other everything, and it just so happens this is your lucky day."

"Stop it."

"Why? This is what you wanted, right? You want me to lose sight of the fact that I kissed you 'cuz you-"

"Why?"

He merely tilted his head as he regarded the steering wheel. "It's the why again, is it?"

"Why did you kiss me?"

"Had myself a bit of an epiphany, is all. Though I wouldn't expect you to understand such a bloody foreign concept when I've been doing nothing but steerin' you free and clear from what I want. See, I don't just need one day or several, let alone a buggering week or month. I want a lifetime's worth of wakin' up next to you. If only just to see you giving me one of those cute grins of yours every morning, it'll have been worth it. And for the record, I _am_ a bad man. I put so much stock in what others thought of me since I got myself a conscience that I'm sick to death of the whole shot. That smug bastard cut through more red tape today and my first instinct was to call Rupes and beg Calendar to restore the level of protection she'd put over me, 'cuz I actually felt a bit defenseless. But I can't look the other way anymore. I can't keep tuckin' myself away in the dark like a coward, Buffy."

"And what is it that you want?" she queried somewhat meekly.

"You."

"Me?" she squeaked. "As in..."

"As in, if I felt a lot better after taking on Satan's army in there, things might be a little different between us than they are right now. But as it stands, my vision is temporarily failing me and I can't afford the distraction."

"So I'm just a distraction then. Something to make you forget things for awhile until you...I don't see how that's of the good. I mean distractions are temporary, Spike, and you could easily change your mind tomorrow and decide you want a new one. One with hair that's just a little blonder and someone who's a lot closer to your height-"

"You're missing the point again, love. That, and you're insanely jealous of something you know nothing about. Let's put it this way, shall we? If had to choose between two flavors of ice cream, I'd always go for my favorite. Sounds a wee bit corny, I'll grant you, but why settle for less when you don't have to?"

"You're right, it's lame. To be honest, this whole conversation is lame. So you can just save it and drive, okay?"

"When you ran off in there, I came to tell you that I'm-"

"What part of 'this is done' did you not understand?"

"All of it," he muttered before unbuckling her seat belt and sliding her across the seat and onto his lap, allowing his mouth to connect with hers. He didn't know how else to make her see that she was the one thing that had kept his nature in check inside. He didn't have to fret over the prospect of losing when he'd gained, because he had in essence already acquired the two things that made his unlife worth living. Buffy was one of them and his soul was another. He didn't understand how she could proclaim to be so far removed from comprehending that and wondered why she was entirely open with him one day and still so unbearably turned off the next. But he should have come to anticipate the moments of indecision from the moment he met her, because prison couldn't alter an inmate's outlook on the world for the better, and it likely never would. He'd just have to keep showing her it didn't have to be like that.

Buffy traced her index finger around his affected eye, placing a feather light kiss over the swollen patch of skin. For some reason, she'd found it terribly difficult to maintain her distance from him, despite the affirmation she'd fed him to do just that. Work buddies didn't kiss and they certainly didn't..._oh_. She froze when she felt his thumb move across the cloth covering her nipple, lovingly bringing it to a pebbled peak before he awarded the same amount of attention to the other one, more than just a little overjoyed at her sharp intake of breath. "Spike."

"Maybe losing that dress of yours wouldn't be such a bad idea after all, would it?"

"You already missed your chance there," she impishly teased.

"Guess I bollixed it up good, didn't I?"

"Well, not so much that I won't tell you I'm not jealous anymore, because I was." When he started to speak, she abruptly tapped a finger to his nose, silencing him. "I think I still am, and I- you know, I haven't felt that way since high school. It's such a stupid, juvenile emotion and I'm not either of those things anymore. I mean I used to think I was back then, and when they did the things they did to me at the facility, they had me believing that nothing good could ever come out of a healthy relationship, because in truth there was no such thing."

"You were magnificent in there."

"Yeah?"

"And I don't know about healthy, but I can give you a relationship. It may not be the kind you're dreamin' of in your beddy bye- although if it were, I'd probably need a horse and carriage and some faraway castle in the clouds somewhere. That whole wearin' tights thing is overrated, though."

"What about Giles?" she inquired. "Won't he flip his lid at the idea of you involving yourself like this? He wasn't really open to the idea before and if you-"

"I'll deal with Rupert. 'Sides, he's not my father and he's got his lady friend to keep him company now. I've got a feeling she's doing her best to make it as unpleasant as she can for him. It might take a few more tries on her part, but he'll come around."

"But she's safe. Jenny's safe."

"That she is, and I just hope they won't want to kill each other by Christmas. Be a shame to try and get that out of the carpet."

"Do you celebrate? The holidays, I mean. Is that a...vampire thing?"

"No, not usually. But I got myself a tiny artificial tree from an antique shop last year and left it by the window 'til after New Year's. Grew more or less attached to it by the time I had to take the sodding thing down and scolded myself for being such a sentimental poofter. Oh, and Harris once tried to exchange gifts with Rosenberg before he deduced that she was Jewish, and what a picnic that was. I know the bloke means well, but there really should be a blooming warning label to educate him in the error of his ways sometimes."

"I wasn't permitted to do anything inside my cell, and if the guards caught any visitors the other prisoners got trying to sneak stuff in, they confiscated it and wrote you up."

"What, like a naughty list for Santa so he wouldn't bring the lot of you any goodies?" Spike retorted.

"Pretty much," she conceded.

"Bloody hell. Why am I not surprised?"

"It wasn't so bad after awhile. Criminals don't get to enjoy sparkly things when they're supposed to be making penance for their wrongdoings, and I guess I could kinda see their point. We didn't deserve it, because we were already being punished. But sometimes I'd sit there and think that I'd give anything for a real live tree with ornaments and garland and the kind of star that's too big and makes it lean to one side like it's drunk. My mom had one like that and it was just so pretty. I don't know what happened to it after...well, after she died and they took me away, but I'd give anything to find it again."

He gently lifted her off him and returned her to her seat, promptly re-starting the engine. "Gotta get going before the cavalry arrives. I'll give Harris and Rupes a call once we get to Lorne's. Let 'em know about Lockley. I'm long overdue for another bleeding shower, too."

"Spike, did I- did I say something wrong?" she questioned, placing her hands in her lap as she fidgeted with them. "I...I mean, before. About the-"

"No, you didn't. But I remembered something I'd forgotten to bring up. Should've probably done it a lot sooner, but I just figured you wouldn't be open to it."

"What is it?"

"How would you feel if I took you back to the house?"

"The house?"

"Your house," he explained. "The one you shared with your mum. I checked into when I looked you up at the library, and they haven't been able to sell it since the night of your conviction. Far as I can tell, it's untouched and hasn't fallen victim to looters. I'd wager most of what wasn't taken into evidence is stored there and intact. You had a basement, right?"

"Yeah, we did," she informed him quietly.

"Bet you stored your Christmas stuff down there when you weren't usin' it."

"But how would be get in? I'm a wanted fugitive now, so they'd probably have it surrounded."

"They do, but Harris offered to be our lookout the other day. I didn't take him up on it then, but I could tell him there've been a change of plans if you're interested. I'd be right there with you."

"Well, if they catch us and throw us in jail, we won't even have to worry about Christmas."

He pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the main stretch of road, checking his rearview mirror once more before picking up speed. "Were you this negative back in high school, too?"

"Please tell me you won't be asking me about those days, because I- seriously?"

"You've got one up on me, Slayer. I was the very definition of what I believe is lovingly referred to as a geek now. In a nutshell, I was a far less hyper version of poor Andrew. Spent the better part of my youth wondering what rhymed with effulgent."

"Effulent?" she repeated, laughing. "Is that even a word?"

"Well, at first I thought I'd stick with gleaming, but I never was one for being all simple like. Effulgent was just another way of saying gleaming, but I could've went with radiant or brilliant, too. Means the same thing, yeah?"

"Yep, you're entirely serious."

"Guess so," he mused.

"Then maybe it's time you told me about the slayer you killed. I know that's not necessarily _fun_, per se, but I bet you got off on the thrill. Could be good to talk to someone."

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Buffy."

"That wasn't what I-"

"Just 'cuz I offed her back in the day doesn't mean I'd jump at the first chance to do it again if I didn't have my soul. I was well on my way to being reformed when I sought it out."

"I know that, and I trust you. I do. Sometimes it may not seem like it, but after today, I would've thought we were good. Totally and completely good."

"I expect you won't be subjecting me to your bloody indecisiveness anymore then. Especially not if we're 'totally and completely good.' "

"I'm not the one who's indecisive here, pal."

"Great, we both are. You more so than me, by the way, and I refuse to keep arguin' that point 'til the cows come home."

"Geez, way to avoid blame much? I bet you procrastinated a lot before you met me, too."

"I don't think I was truly alive before I met you," he confessed, making sure to keep his eyes steadily trained on the road.

"Well, technically-"

"So help me, Slayer, if we're gonna ruin another moment, let me drop myself out of the vehicle while it's still moving. You can blame the poet in me later. But you have no idea what it is to live for over a hundred years and name off the top of your noggin what you're still living for. Knew I wanted to help people, of course, but when you're a creature of the night that's basically all there is. Your job is more important than anyone'll ever know, because it's really all you have left."

"It's why you did all those one night stands, isn't it? You couldn't get yourself to feel anything, and they were there for you. They wanted to love you, but you couldn't let them."

"Lorne was right about you. Know me like a book, you do."

"Comes with the extra slayer baggage."

"Oh, is that what it is?"

"How are you a guy and still so easy to talk to? I mean it's not like you don't see right through me, too. You...you're almost like a guy friend who knows a lot about girl stuff because he's secretly just one of the girls."

"Right, that _must_ be it." Spike drove the car through the Caritas lot and settled into the same space he'd occupied prior to leaving for Andrew's earlier. "You've now gone and reduced me to havin' girly parts and gettin' chummy with you and your mates on account of being a girl myself and only your friend. Have I gotten the gist of it?"

"You know I didn't mean the friend part, you idiot." She was unable to stop her cheeks from reddening and it warmed him. "Besides, friends don't touch their friend's private girly parts and give them lots of kisses."

"Maybe you need to get out more," he offered somewhat suggestively.

"No thank you- and also ew."

Lorne's mouth literally dropped open when they entered, several of his customers fearing for the worst as they rapidly began to filter out and depart, leaving the establishment as empty as it had been yesterday. "Did you two try crashing the all you can eat on the corner again? Because those grandmotherly types are known to be fiesty if they don't get in there the minute they open the doors. There's a special on outdated perms if they agree to purchase the senior citizen plus pack. Free meal and a spiffy updo. Can't beat that. Oh, and FYI, I also didn't see any mack trucks barreling through here this morning, so we'll rule that one out by default. In other, more appealing news, that fella over there in blue was just getting ready to belt out a smashing rendition of 'All By Myself.' Bet it would've been a showstopper. Although, all things considered, I guess you took care of the showstopper part for me."

"Not gonna sing for you," Spike told him, as he painfully inched his way onto a bar stool.

"You don't have to. I already know you met up with someone blonde, aggressive and federal and got your nasty on at Willy's. Take it from me that your slayer gal has her head on straight. You can't trust Lockley, champ. She'll turn on you the first chance she gets."

"Balls. Not you, too."

"Hey, don't sweat it. It's not like she and her boys can cause violence in here, anyway, much less get past the door. Go and draw yourself a bath or something. You're bad for business."

"Looks to me like I make up most of your clientele these days." The vampire snatched a handful of cashews from a small glass bowl on the countertop. "Or at least fifty percent of it. Someone sing off key again and get their brain scrambled?"

"If by scrambled, did I read them and find something juicy enough for the tabloids, then no. I'll plead the Fifth on that one. I don't kiss and tell. You two, on the other hand, pretty much have that down. The kissing and telling?"

"Can you have a pint ready for me after I'm through up there?"

"Sure thing, amigo. Away you go." After he'd departed upstairs, Lorne opened a small fridge behind him and pulled out a bag of blood, smoothly unhooking a glass from the ceiling rack above his head. "He might need some help touching up those wounds of his," he addressed Buffy. "There's some ointment and bandages in the cabinet across from the shower stall."

"Was that a very subtle way of making sure I walk in on him naked?"

"Not at all. But if you do, you'll probably have a great view of the lay of the land. Pun intended." The green demon sealed the bag shut and sprinkled some chocolate shavings into the red liquid, briefly surveying his handiwork. He then swirled a can of whipped cream over the chocolate and placed a cherry at the top. "I'm thinking of calling this one Party Plasma. Yay or nay?"

Buffy giggled, using the tip of her index finger to snag a bit of the whipped cream. "I'd say you've got yourself a winner. He'll love it."


	19. Chapter 19: The Writing on the Wall

Chapter Nineteen: The Writing on the Wall

4:31 PM

"Do you even own a coffee machine that was invented after nineteen eighty three?"

"It was a gift," Rupert Giles muttered, shooting her a look of obvious disdain as he briefly adjusted the spectacles residing over the bridge of his nose, his eyes abruptly shifting to apprise the book Willow had given him at Caritas. It was spread open before him over a low glass coffee table, a pen curled around the fingers of his left hand, his rapid chicken scratches nearly filling up his last blank sheet of lined paper.

"Yeah, well, some gifts are meant to returned," Jenny Calendar informed him, carefully measuring out the correct amount of grounds and applying them to the filter. "It's nearly fifty years old, Rupert, and it's amazing it still runs. Like it or not, it's practically an antique."

"Precisely, and it was given to me by a very good friend of mine, so I would kindly appreciate it if you refrain from using it so you don't break it."

"My point exactly. They have bigger, better machines that do all of this for you now. You have to learn to adapt to our technological advances if you expect to get anywhere in this world."

"Perhaps I'll consider it once I know the world is no longer in peril."

"About that," she murmured, reaching up to grab a burgundy colored mug from the cupboard above her. "I think our guy must've found a way to combat William's protection spell."

Giles' head whipped up, his gaze suddenly burning holes into her back. "Sorry?"

"I can feel it because the barrier's weakened. I'm no expert, but I'd say that's bad." She paused a moment, not wanting to gloat too much in the midst of her amusement. "Well, that and Lorne called me on my micro about ten minutes ago. There was an attack at Willy's Strip Club, and if the news these days is anything to go by, that same club just burned to the ground in what looks like some sort of freak fire."

"Good Lord, are they all right?"

"They're both fine. William's a little beat up, but it was obviously nothing he couldn't handle. Buffy really held her own, too. I guess she's really embracing her destiny. In a nutshell, anyway."

"But..."

"Rupert-"

"There's more, isn't there?" he insisted. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but a detective currently wanted for questioning wouldn't stoop so low as to deliberately pick a fight when he knows full well someone could spot him and turn him in. If anything, he went there because he needed a quiet place to talk and couldn't fathom doing it in a much more crowded atmosphere. The question now becomes who, because if it were Buffy, they would've gone back to Caritas."

"Lorne mentioned a Kate Lockley. She's that FBI agent who's been poking around the case and outranks the LAPD in taking over the investigation."

"She's shown herself to him," Giles muttered, "but never made a move to arrest him. Why?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" She reached for another mug and poured a second cup of coffee, eagerly pushing it into his hands. "Seems a bit farfetched to think she'd already be on our side this early in the game. Granted, it's also not altogether impossible, but I'm getting the sense that something's a little rotten here in Los Angeles."

"And the ring?" he prompted, already rising from his seat on the sofa and reaching for his telephone.

"Oh, the ring still works fine," she amended, nodding. "So you can put that phone back down and cool your jets, Rambo. If it's anyone you should be contacting, it's the coven. You never heard back from them and I don't know if what I have left will be able to counteract the magicks he used. Even if they're borrowed, I'm probably no match for them now."

He impetuously pushed the sleeves of his black sweatshirt to his elbows. "Yes, and as frustrating as it's become, I sincerely doubt we'll be getting a response from the coven anytime soon- especially when they're clearly already aware of the fact that he's getting stronger."

"Then why doesn't he just confront them?"

"Them?"

"William and Buffy. I mean he's had plenty of opportunities, yet all he does is lie in wait. It's almost as if he's-"

"Hiding behind his spells," he finished for her. "Yes, I know, and under normal circumstances I'd be inclined to believe you and accept that. However, I've reason to think we're likely the ones at fault because we've grossly underestimated him."

"Okay, Rupert, you need to start making sense." Jenny gently pulled the phone from his grasp and set it back in its cradle. "And while we're on that subject, today might be a good time to start doing it."

Giles allowed himself to sink back into the welcoming cushion of the soft couch, raising the mug she'd given him to his lips. The truth of it was, he much preferred a decent cup of tea to the harsh taste of coffee and rarely indulged in it unless he had to entertain company. The outdated contraption she'd spoken of earlier had served his guests well, but had failed to have the same effect on him. "About a week ago, a chap walked into my library and initiated a conversation of sorts with me. He spoke in an upper-class British accent and I simply assumed he was a tourist."

"_You're_ not a tourist," she pointed out. "William isn't one, either."

"Yes, I realize that, except I hadn't seen him before. He wasn't one of my regulars. It's not unheard of for that to happen, but it still struck me as a tad bit unprecedented. His identification card passed through my security system well enough, but given your own unique background, you already know it's not difficult to falsify that type of data if you invest in the right magicks or have someone in mind who does. It becomes more than just a remote possibility."

"So he freaked you out. It was a bad vibe, but it doesn't automatically make him a-"

"It was his signature," the record keeper murmured. "He requested some materials from one of my archives and wished me to upload them to the device he had on him. It looked very much like one of those phones we were required to carry about twenty years ago. Nothing at all like the bothersome micros that have become regulation. I informed him that he would need to sign for it and for a minute there I...wasn't entirely sure he would."

"Do you have a hard copy of that signature with you?"

He merely shot her a slightly flustered glare, as he got up once again and walked over to a wooden cabinet propped up against a wall in the hallway, retrieving an old fashioned key from his pocket. "Need I remind you that I maintain this sort of information for a living? I keep both electronic and hard copy at my disposal."

"You may be a fuddy duddy, Rupert, but did anyone ever tell you you're a _sexy_ fuddy duddy when you're angry?"

"Can we please try and focus?" he countered, thoroughly sifting through the contents of a clear plastic folder before he eventually recovered the paper he'd been searching for, hastily placing it beside the large book. "There, you see? The penmanship is an exact match. Right down to the way he curls the H and enlarges his A's."

Jenny glanced from one to the other, her brown eyes meticulously scanning each with careful precision as she set aside her empty coffee mug at her feet, her fingers lightly gracing each of the pages in turn. "Well, I don't know about an exact match, but it's awfully close. I've got a friend who might be able to analyze it in more detail, but I'm really not sure if we should even be dragging her into this. She used to work for the department about three years ago."

"I presume you're referring to the, um, police department?"

"Yeah. But that's if we'll be running with the idea that we're looking for a former Watcher."

"It's a Watcher's Diary," he confirmed, nodding. "You'd also be correct to assume the bloke who's written it is the same one who killed Buffy's mother, as well as Jennifer Hart and Harmony Kendall. Who knows how many others."

"Holy crap."

"Yes, that's essentially it, isn't it? Unfortunately, crap doesn't even begin to cover it. We have a name now. An actual name to tie these murders to. I...I need to call William. I need to-"

"But he screwed up," she protested. "He never screws up. The only clues he willingly gives us are the ones he wants us to find. William figured out the part about Jenny and Jennifer, and we know why he killed Jennifer when he did. We even know why he picked another J seven years after he killed Joyce. But this is an actual paper trail that binds him to whatever he asked you for that day. Why would he do that? You must've helped him without even-"

"Would it perhaps be more beneficial to us if we were to access the data he needed?"

"Do you have it?"

"That particular log would be in my office. As it was quite recent, I'd have kept it with me for a few weeks before filing it away. We'd have to make a trip to the library to get it."

"We could do it first thing in the morning," she suggested. "It's not like the Feds even know what they're looking for, so we'd be safe there. Or...and I realize you're not keen on the whole hacking scene- I could see if I could get to it from here."

"Do what you must," he advised. "But if it's any consolation, I didn't see it, didn't hear about it, and don't have any desire to be educated in the atrocities of your ways."

"Lovely. And hey, while we're at it, I think we should also try and find out more about the man behind the madness, too. I'll pull up what I can get on Ashford Adlam and the trail of bodies he's left in his wake, and you-"

"Yes, but that bloody net isn't going to give you that now, is it? I dare say it would be a complete waste of time on your part. For one, he'd never post such an intimate recollection of his confessions online and most would likely regard it as complete and utter rubbish, anyway."

She smirked. "You really need to start getting with the program. If anything, I'm just trying to find out why mom didn't like him very much. You really have to wonder with a name like that. I'll see if I can get a hold of his family tree and trace his ancestors."

"While I'm forced to use the idiot box at work, I honestly don't wish it on anyone, so by all means have at it. I'll be upstairs relaying all of this to William. No use keeping it from him."

"Did it ever occur to you to ask him how much he already knows?"

Giles paused at the bottom of the stairwell, his left hand gripping the banister. "I beg your pardon?"

"He hasn't said anything to us, but it seems he already suspects. And if that's true, he might already be familiar with the name."

"If this happened before he sought the restoration of his soul, I very much doubt he allowed himself the luxury of finding out. He may recognize the face, but sometimes that's simply all there is. Regardless of what he's aware of, his priority is making sure that girl is safe."

"Yeah, and you haven't exactly shared a whole lot there, either."

He quirked a brow. "Meaning?"

"Meaning William's not the only one with secrets, and whatever you talked about with him at my house is a fairly big indication of that. Look, Rupert, anything you've done or didn't do is not- it's not like you owe me, all right? It's no longer my business. I'm not entirely on board with getting into the specifics of what used to be between us, but that's not really the issue here."

"You're right," he admonished. "It's not, and I have reason to believe it might not make me such an intolerable bastard if I decide to temporarily waive that clause just this once."

"I never said you were an intolerable bastard."

"Not in those exact words, no. But it was certainly easy to surmise it."

"You should wait until tomorrow," Jenny offered.

"Tomorrow?"

"To call William."

"Buffy's mother and I were involved," he admitted then, easing himself into the comfort of the last step on the staircase as he professed a wistful sigh. "Buffy never knew about it, which is why she never recognized me when I came to your home after Rack's failed attempt on your life. We would never meet at Joyce's and would constantly make excuses as to why we'd convinced ourselves it was probably for the best. Buffy never had a high opinion of her father and it's understandable when you think of how he even failed to show up and visit her in prison. We were afraid the presence of a new man in Joyce's life would only serve to complicate matters further. When I received word of her mother's death, I knew she hadn't done it. Hadn't...committed the crime they claimed she was all too capable of committing. She was just a normal girl who was put away for something she'd never even conceived of carrying through- let alone mastering the level of magic it would have taken to accomplish it."

"You watched over her," Jenny filled in. "Not literally, because the prison would've never given you the right, so you had her shielded- courtesy of an outside source. You asked the coven to assist you."

"Yes, and we've essentially already covered that."

"But what you didn't plan on was William hearing about her plight and doing a little investigating of his own."

"He'd never actually gone to great lengths to sacrifice himself on a personal level before. Maybe when he was turned, as I'd imagine he'd wanted to impress his beloved Drusilla and show Angelus he was worthy of his acceptance." Giles ran a hand through his hair and gently removed his glasses, tiredly rubbing the planes of his nose. "On occasion he'd even run his case load by me and we'd make small talk over it. It was the same with women. He'd distance himself from them because he didn't want them to come to expect things from him. Being what he was, who he was, it's not as if he could provide them with children or marriage."

"She's not that different from him, Rupert."

"Oh, really? Well, maybe it would be in your best interest to enlighten me then."

"I'm not saying they'll end up together with a happily ever after in the cards, but he's found in her what he's tried so long to deny in himself."

"And what might that be?"

"Hope."

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Buffy Summers announced, as she slowly inched the bathroom door open with one hand, while her other successfully balanced Lorne's glass of Party Plasma on a thin round tray. She'd talked herself into entering the minute she'd heard the water stop running, praying she hadn't somehow managed to inconvenience him and embarrass herself silly. But she already knew she'd be fibbing if she thought she'd done a fairly thorough job of convincing herself that the subject of his nudity had absolutely no bearing on her sudden wave of enthusiasm whatsoever. Especially when she'd bounded happily up the steps and nearly tumbled headfirst onto the floor after deciding to try and attempt the harrowing journey of taking two at a time. She didn't know why she continued to experience sweaty palms, a dry mouth, and the inability to rapidly form a coherent sentence in his presence every now and then, because there wasn't a single man on the planet who'd managed to affect her this way since high school. Well, make that never. It had reduced her to a mess of troubling proportions, envisioning a time when she'd had posters of boy bands plastered all over her bedroom walls and was waiting for a guy who wasn't a jerk to ask her to homecoming or prom.

Spike Pratt placed his hand on the touchpad and allowed the panel to slide open, emerging from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, his face free of blood, but still marred from their previous encounter at Willy's. His left eye remained sealed shut. "What's that you're on about?" he asked quietly.

Chest of Spike, lips of Spike. Very well _toned_ chest of Spike. Concentrate. She needed to concentrate. "I, uh...here," she stammered, shoving the tray up into his face. "Lorne made this for you."

His beautiful countenance brightened and he briefly snickered, taking the drink and sampling the beverage. "Not bad. Wonder what in the sodding heck he'll come up with next."

"He sprinkled it with chocolate and topped it with whipped cream," she mumbled. "I watched him make it. And you...actually don't seem all that surprised."

"He's done it before," he acknowledged, "only he went for white chocolate instead of dark. Called it Easter Surprise. Kind of breaks up the monotony a bit."

"He also sent me up here to fix you up, but you're probably used to taking care of that yourself by now, so I'll just go and wait for you in-"

The vampire reached out and clamped a hand over her wrist, subtly tilting his head. "You're nervous, love."

"No, I'm not. I'm really not, and okay, so even I were, which I'm definitely and totally not, what would I have to be nervous about?" Forgetting that it would be wise to hold back, she traced her fingertips across the prominent scar that lined his left brow, seemingly fascinated by its shape. "Where'd you get this?"

"That would involve telling you about that slayer you seem to be so fond of. The one during the Boxer Rebellion. She gave it to me when we were fightin' to the death of it. Thought about covering it up a dozen times over the years, but after awhile I just let it go. Not like it doesn't build character, eh? 'Sides, it was my battle, and the only one who was there with me and the feisty little miss was Dru."

"Bet she was proud of you," Buffy mumbled.

"It was my first slayer- of course she was. So much so that I invited her over and let her have a taste. I should've known then that she was already taking me for a bloody ride."

"What about the slayer? When you killed her it had to mean something. If they're as important as you say they are, it had to mean something."

"Oh, yeah, it meant something all right. Angelus' wrath 'cuz he felt I was drawing too much attention to us whenever we ventured out on the town. Didn't like that I'd gone and bested him. Lookin' back on it, I s'pose that might've been what prompted him to go for the gold and take my ripe wicked plum away from me. But darkness isn't everything, Buffy. Sooner or later, even the most feral of animals tire of it- whether they fess up to it or not."

She watched him set the empty glass down, padding barefoot over to the bedroom where a pair of sweats were waiting at the edge of the bed. "Drusilla didn't, though, did she? She liked it, craved it."

"Where's this coming from, pet?"

"I need to know more," she pleaded. "I need to understand the way he thinks. From a...slayer standpoint."

"I'd wager you already do, sweet bit. Got the both of us down to a science, really. Doesn't mean you'll swoop in all brave and slayer-like to save the day, though, yeah? Things are different now. _He's_ different. What he's learned is a far cry from training in the basement, which is why we're gonna be startin' an introduction to magic come our next session. I wondered for awhile if it might be the best course of action to take, but I made a promise and I intend to fulfill it." He retrieved the pair of pants and shot her a somewhat stern expression. "You should probably turn around and face the other way. I don't fancy havin' to drag these all the way back to the bathroom just to slip 'em on and your virtue could be compromised."

"Well, if it weren't for me, you'd be sleeping naked, right? Isn't that what you always do?"

"It is," he professed through clenched teeth. "It's just that some of us aren't as oblivious to the reactions we have and need to keep 'em under wraps."

"Like the reaction you had in the car."

"Yeah, like that. If you want a demonstration I'd be more than happy to provide it, but I don't think you're prepared for that at the mo. I'm gonna send Harris a wave and put your mum's house on the agenda for tomorrow. See if we can't suss out what kind of girl you were before they came for you."

"Why do you even like me?"

"Right then," he sided. "It's gettin' late and I'm not about to get into this with you. Not to mention, like's hardly a strong enough word for what I feel for you. You know it, 'cuz your strength's already gotten me through some tough times. If I seem like I'm together, it only means I'm on the verge of falling apart. You've kept up morale for the both of us- probably more than you'll ever know. Or at least more than you're bleeding capable of knowin'. You shouldn't beat yourself up over it."

"I just don't get how I'm supposed- are you my boyfriend now? I...I mean, for real?"

He felt his heart surge in his chest and had to dutifully remind himself that it was never going to beat. "Do you want me to be?"

"I think so," she answered, her voice just above a whisper. "But I might have to sleep on it some more."

"You do that." He moved forward, giving her a quick kiss upon her forehead. "I'd also go so far as to say you're due for a shower yourself, Goldilocks. You fared better than I did, but you should still dip that head of yours under the spray and get cleaned up."

"That's what I..." she trailed off, averting her gaze to stare rather uncomfortably at her feet. "I was hoping you could help me with that."

"Help?" Spike reiterated, dumbfounded, as he felt the lower half of his body spring to life, succumbing to the barest trace of movement he was working around the clock to control and ignore. He really was truly and completely buggered.

"Yeah, I'll need some help reaching my back because I'm still a little sore from the club, and I just thought that maybe you could..."

"Help," he said for the second time, fearing his speech patterns were fast heading the way of the blood that was no longer rushing in the direction of his brain.

"Just for today. If...if you want. You don't even have to stay until I'm finished. You could just do it and go. I was thinking about drawing another bath."

He shut his eyes when he heard the last statement, willing himself not to visualize a thousand dirty thoughts. "Are you sure you have even the slightest idea of what you're askin'?"

"Why else would I ask it?" she returned, the apprehension creeping back into her tone.

"If I do this, you can't just expect me to do it halfway, Buffy."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at."

"In order to tend to you the way you should be tended to, I'd have to-"

"You'd be joining me. In the tub."

"I would. Which is why I'm gonna give you a choice here."

"I don't need it, because I trust you," she responded quickly, her green eyes tentatively risking a glance at him.

"You trust- in there?"

"I do," she assured him.

"Well, good, 'cuz if you fall asleep I may have to bite you." He opened his good eye and tossed her a wink, his lips forming a brilliant smile. "Oh, and since I'm tryin' my damndest to be a gentleman here, ladies first."

"Okay, but don't look."

"Now she wants to be modest," he quipped, as he dropped his towel and let it fall to the floor, already on his way back to the bathroom. "I'll start that bath, and if you're not in there in five minutes I'm coming to get you. Throw you in fully clothed if I have to."

Her mouth dropped open. "How is that fair?" she balked.

"We've already had a discussion about what's fair, pet. Afraid that doesn't apply here anymore." With that, he sauntered off, making sure she got an exceptionally decent view of his backside as he disappeared into the adjoining room.

Buffy began taking deep breaths to calm herself as she slowly began to unzip the black cocktail dress she still wore from their visit to the strip club, her boldness continually landing her in hot water. Literally. But something inside her had felt like it was on the verge of breaking if she didn't do something to relieve herself of the added tension that was heavily coursing through her veins. Tension that had sought her out and taunted her, coupled with the renewed sense of vigor she'd experienced after her first real fight at Willy's.

Spike may have been a vampire in every way imaginable, but the first real glimpse she'd gotten of that body had just upgraded him to a god. She hadn't intended to gawk for as long as she did, but seeing as he had absolutely no trouble with the modesty concept he'd teased her about, she hadn't expected him to regret the loss of the towel he'd sported over his hips. Buffy wondered if she would be the same way after a hundred or so years of living. To make matters worse, she'd fervently taken in the 'landscape' she'd just sworn off to Lorne downstairs- and had done so of her own free will. It hadn't been intentional, not really, and if- oh, who was she kidding? Certainly not herself.

She stepped out of her panties and giggled softly, wanting to tell him he'd been wrong about the strapless bra. She hadn't even been wearing one. Although, given his actions chronicling their second car adventure before they'd gone back to Caritas, she figured it didn't take a genius to figure it out- much less a man. She owed it to herself to bask in her freedom, even if it only ended up being transitory. To simply let go for a few hours and pretend some Watcher demon guy wasn't actively trying to kill her. It would just have to do so she wouldn't end up second guessing herself- not to mention the consequences that would likely emerge as a result of her regret.

She trusted him. She did. He wasn't like the others.

He hadn't abused her or used her and he genuinely valued her company. And if she didn't stop fretting over it soon, she was going to end up quoting some cheesy romance novel where women in scantily clad gowns were being ravaged by some big burly man with hair flowing over his muscular shoulders. So not what she had in mind. Clearing her throat, she let her bare feet guide her to the bathroom, her hands strategically placed over her most intimate areas.

Buffy frowned when she saw the tub filled with water but no Spike. Dropping her hands to her sides to get a better look, she silently crept closer, her emerald gaze roaming around the room with a discernible amount of confusion. Maybe he'd changed his mind. Maybe she'd took too long. Maybe- she was quick to let out a scream when cold fingers wrapped themselves around her bare waist and pressed her into the nearest wall. Finding herself breathless yet again, she reluctantly lifted her lids and met the force of blue that scoured the length of her body, drinking her in so intently it was as if he thought she'd vanish on the spot. She swallowed, suddenly feeling more self-conscious than she'd ever felt in her entire life, sneaking her hands in between them as she struggled to shield her state of undress.

"Don't," he pressed, tenderly capturing his hands in hers and holding them tightly against his bare chest. "You're bloody effulgent."

Any worries she was anticipating quickly dissolved and caused her heart to flip flop. "Effulgent," she reciprocated. She felt something long and hard twitch near her belly and bit back a moan.

"C'mon," he urged, gesturing behind him. "Water'll get cold if we forget to take proper advantage of it."

"Spike-"

Not giving her time to form a sufficient enough answer, much less a shake of her head, he playfully scooped her up into his arms and trekked over to the full tub. Nimbly placing her upright while he settled in, he crooked a suggestive finger towards him when she hesitated, raising both his brows as he waited. "Bugger it. Get in here, Buffy. You're a sodding work of art."

"That implies you want to paint me, which is just a little unsettling."

"It's a compliment, Slayer. Used to sketch quite often back in the day. Didn't exactly see myself as an all accomplished artist, but did well at tryin' my luck to master the task."

She bit her lip and gradually eased herself into the water, inwardly warding off her doubts as she felt the stiffness start to leave her body. She hadn't failed in her duty to gauge his overt response to their close proximity, biting her lip even harder as she reveled in the notion that he really did find her desirable. She saw him grab a sponge and a bar of soap from the shelf attached to the side of the tub, lathering it up and telling her to lean forward. She did as he'd instructed and felt the softness of it caress her as he ran it gingerly down the full length of her back, littering her skin with feather light kisses over the cuts and scrapes she'd endured from the scuffle.

No, this was nothing like what she'd been forced to do in prison. Spike wasn't even human, but the amount of affection he was willingly bestowing upon her was something so new and so foreign, that she almost wanted it to be a dream she didn't need to wake up from. She'd waited so long to have this, and had found it where she probably would've never even dared to look had she not met him. It was all so unconditionally selfless that she wanted to-

"Buffy?"

Oh, God. She _was_ crying. She'd gone and made a total fool out of herself and now he was going to go into one of his rants about how hated when she did this because he wasn't prepared to deal with it and was at a total loss in how to proceed. The typical guy code if there ever was one.

"Am I- have I done something wrong, love? If you're not..."

"No," she assured him, a faint laugh escaping her as she hiccupped. "That's the problem."

"What is?"

"It's exactly right."

He brought her face close to his and she could have sworn she heard a growl, his left hand cupping her jawline, while the right trailed the sponge across her breasts and over her abdomen, dipping down between her legs. She bucked her hips at the contact, and he stilled his advances, taking the hand that was curled along her jawline and placing it firmly over her stomach, his lips tickling her ear. "Easy, pet."

"If you're trying to get me to look like a prune and turn me on at the same time, congratulations. I don't think I can even get my legs to _move_ after that. It...you- see what you did? The scary thing is, I don't think you were even trying."

He chuckled low and deep. "Could be your right. But that's just the-" He groaned when he heard his micro cell sound off, rolling his eyes as he grudgingly accepted the call with a simple verbal command. "What is it, Rupert? Thought you'd already be catchin' a bit of kip."

"I'll have you know I'm not nearly that old, William."

"And?"

"No need to be impatient now, is there? Jenny and...and I have been doing a bit of research and although she tried her best to persuade me from this until tomorrow, I feel the sooner you know it, the better."

"If you two have made up and are shagging like rabbits in your living room, then no. Sooner will never be better. I just assume wipe it from my memory altogether."

"We have a name," he disclosed hurriedly, "for the, um, Watcher who wrote the book Willow found."

"That so?"

"Yes, it's Ashford Adlam."


	20. Chapter 20: Past is Prologue

Note: Corrected a very minor, yet still embarrassing spelling error in chapter 19 that MSWord apparently didn't catch. Changed "glad" to "clad" during the part that chronicles Buffy's thoughts before she heads into the bathroom to find Spike. I try to take care of stuff like this by way of the various edits I do for a single chapter, but sometimes I don't catch it all or the program won't pick up on it for obvious reasons.

Chapter Twenty: Past is Prologue

_Summers' Residence_

8:22 PM

"Do you think it's hard for him to sleep with those?"

Xander Harris slowly turned toward the department's medical examiner, bestowing her with a strangely inquisitive glance that reeked of massive confusion before shoving the last remnants of an ice cream cone into his mouth, his brown eyes riddled with curiosity. He casually wiped his fingers off on a napkin and placed it in a small plastic bag hanging from the glove compartment, contemplating giving her his undivided attention. "Who exactly are we talking about here, Will?"

"That guy at the bar," she told him, shifting slightly in the passenger seat of his car as she struggled to obtain some complacency.

"Well, that really narrows it down, doesn't it?"

"The green one," Willow Rosenberg tried then. "The one that Spike knows."

"You mean Lorne," he offered, nodding. "Nice guy, in spite of the obvious...demon thing."

"Yeah, about that," she continued. "See, he's got those two little horns coming out of his head, and- well, how does he sleep? Does he have a special pillow? Maybe the horns always poke a hole through them and he has to keep getting new ones."

Xander blinked, suddenly wishing he had another ice cream cone in the mere hope that it might take his mind hostage with the infamous brain freeze, thereby giving him a lot of pleasant non-thoughts. "You're serious."

"Very serious! Plus, hey, our friend's really a vampire and we're currently sitting here waiting for him to arrive with Buffy so we can commit a terrible crime and get them inside her old house. How twisted is that?"

"Okay, one. You were the person begging and pleading with me to accept the whole Dracula smackula deal. And two? I already promised I'd help him with this before I knew what he was- which, by the way, doesn't matter."

"Oh, I'm all with the not mattering," Willow professed. "At least until we get caught and I spend the rest of my life wondering why they put me in a jail cell next to Morty."

"They wouldn't do that."

"They would!" she insisted. "Our word doesn't mean anything anymore. We're practically theirs for the taking."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Lockley's team invading the morgue now, would it?"

She stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest. "It's my home, Xander. The guy they have in there _trying_ to do my job doesn't even know I exist. My credentials don't impress him. He just goes la la la and does his thing and says he can't report back to me because it's all super confidential with a side order of hush hush. Just because they took over the case, doesn't mean we need to be kept in the dark. Besides, Harmony's body didn't even disappear yet. I figure all of the air that was in her head is probably helping keep it well preserved."

"Well, you're apparently breathing enough hot air for the both of us right now, because you're steaming up my windows."

"Sorry." Sighing, Willow took her shirt sleeve and gently rubbed a circle into the glass beside her, her mouth gradually lapsing into a frown as the night continued to close in on them. "It's just...it used to be the four of us, you know? You, me, Spike, Cordelia. We made a pretty great team, didn't we?"

"Yeah, and it'll be that way again, Will. We just need to wait it out," he assured her. "As soon as we catch this guy, we're done. We'll never have to worry about-"

"We will," she argued. "Willy's Strip Club just burned to the ground, and while not everyone knows what really happened like we do, it's still highly suspicious. I mean, demonically possessed patrons? By the time they're done with this stupid ban, they'll be putting each and every one of us away, and they'll probably lock up Kate Lockley too. It's like we're scraping the seedy underbelly of Los Angeles. Everything they tried to keep hidden is just finding its way out there and we're all caught in the crosshairs. Either way, this is bad. Like...more than bad. Bad bad."

"I'm getting it with the bad. No need to drive it through my head like a railroad-"

"Spike?" she finished quickly, offering him a glare.

"Okay, so it wasn't exactly the best choice of words. I got it. I mean especially considering what we already know about his history. But you have to admit that you're overreacting just a little."

"And what if I'm not?"

"Then we'll talk about it later," he muttered, watching as a car pulled up behind him and cut the lights, noting the familiar flash of bleached blonde as the driver exited. "Looks like we're up. You remember what you're supposed to do, right?"

"Yeah, we distract Heckle and Jeckle and let Buffy and Spike sneak inside. It's not too hard to comprehend when you've run it by me about ten thousand times. You just better hope Anya doesn't find out."

"I had Abrams get his friend to ask her out tonight."

"You _what_?" Willow squeaked.

"Well, his friend's not a cop, so there's no way she'll be able to see through his petty charade- and if she does, there's still no harm done because it wasn't Abrams himself. See where I'm going with this?"

"Yeah, so it's best if you just get on with it and be on your merry way," Spike Pratt retorted, as he approached his partner's vehicle and stood staring at him with a fair bit of annoyance, a cigarette dangling from his left hand. He wore a long black duster over a worn red button down and white t-shirt, a pair of faded jeans and combat boots topping off his wardrobe choices. "Shouldn't be prattling on to your honey when you're supposed to be turnin' on that Harris charm for those two lackeys up there."

"Since when do I have charm?" Xander interjected.

"No, you're right," he admonished, trying hard to hide a smile. "Not a speck of charm to be had. Must be why Red here still won't go out with you."

"Did you make sure they can't trace your car?" he inquired, perturbed.

"What, are you sodding Jessica Fletcher now?" Spike tossed his cig to the ground and snuffed it out with his boot. "It's done."

"Look, the address Adlam left with Giles is definitely bogus," he pressed on. "I did a little digging before I got here because I wanted to see if there was something Jenny missed. That woman's good. Far as we can tell, he doesn't currently have any family-"

"That's living, anyway," Willow put in.

"That's living," Xander repeated, rolling his eyes. "But we did strike pay dirt on a possible birthdate. Which, if he were actually alive today, and...all indications point to the fact that he is, he'd be a little older than you were at the time you were turned. You owe Jenny a lot for that, too, as I'm thinking you vampires aren't ones to gossip. More like bite, drain and move on, am I right?"

"You keep running your trap like that, and maybe you'll find out," he stated quietly, his blues flashing amber before calmly shifting back.

"You know him, don't you?"

He only raised his brow. "Sorry?"

"Or something _about_ him that you aren't planning on sharing," the detective continued. "It's why we were put on the case from day one, isn't it?"

"Can you get me in the buggering house or not?" Spike demanded. "The sunlight can't touch me, but if we're here longer than we have to be, something or someone else will. So let's get on with it and save the survey for a time where I don't feel compelled to wring your neck. Are we clear?"

"We're clear," came the reply, "but I'm also your partner, and right now you seem to be forgetting that."

"Not forgetting anything, though I'd wager you need to brush up on your schooling, 'cuz Rupes just informed me prior to gettin' here that our mate Adlam requested blueprints for a house in this same neighborhood that's been vacated for almost as long as the Summers' property. Interesting, ain't it?"

"It's too easy," came a small voice to his right, as Buffy came up behind him, fighting off the slight chill that crept through her bones, her hands plunging themselves into the pockets of her white zippered hoodie.

"Maybe," Xander told her. "Doesn't hurt to take a look, though, does it? Willow and I can do it after we're finished here and you guys are in."

"Won't be necessary," Spike vouched. "Calendar's gonna have someone look into it. If need be, I'll give it a run through, but I suspect it's just a front."

"To lead us off track again."

"Your basic distraction or throw them for a loop," Buffy mumbled. "But it still doesn't tell us why he went to Giles with it in the first place. Giles couldn't have known who he was when he met him, because it was before Jennifer's murder. He wouldn't have put two and two together then. To him it was just some guy who wanted information about an empty house and it's not like it's against the law to ask for it."

"But he might've later," Xander objected. "Recognized him, I mean. Giles isn't stupid, and although he's mostly at the low end of the technology spectrum, he's got a great memory, because it's actually his job to have one."

She glanced at him, merely nodding. "It's just that none of it fits with everything else. The murders were all in plain sight. The bodies were left with that in mind. It was right out there in the open. It's common sense, yet there's nothing that common about this."

"Who used to own it?" Willow spoke up, leaning over in her seat as she craned her neck towards them. "The house with the blueprints."

"Some bloke by the name of Gregory Saunders," Spike filled her in. "Nothing remarkable about him, other than some bit in the news over thirty years ago about the recognition he received for a paper he wrote."

"What was the paper on?"

"Why?"

"Maybe it could be another cl-"

"Clue," he said slowly, as realization began to dawn on him. "Bloody hell."

"What? What is it?" Buffy asked.

"Nothing. Harris, you and Rosenberg do your thing. Get up there and get us inside. I'll be waitin' for you to signal me."

Xander and Willow stole away in silence, sneaking a brief look between the two of them before heading off in the direction of the driveway that paved way to the two story house a bit further up the road. The dark silhouettes of two FBI agents stood in front of it, hats and coats indicating their designated station, their weapons drawn and ready.

"Bloody hell isn't nothing," she snapped. "Look, Spike, if you know what's going on, and if it in any way connects back to me then I need to know. _Now_. This isn't the time to hold out on me. We're doing it together, remember? We're in it together."

"It's not about the house at all, Buffy."

"My house or the one he got the blueprints for?"

"Rupert mentioned something in confidence to me while we were chattin' it up at Calendar's. It was the day Rack attacked her. I'd pretty much come to the conclusion I did myself, though, so in truth it honestly wasn't that much of a surprise."

"Yeah, okay," she acknowledged, allowing him to lead her into a patch of nearby bushes. "But I'm not sure what that has to do with the blueprints Ashford wanted."

"Balls." He closed his eyes, desperately wanting to take back the last five minutes or so of his unlife if it meant quite possibly losing the amount of trust he'd already gained with her, clenching his jaw in obvious frustration. Taking a breath he could hardly have used, he carefully exhaled and took her gently by her shoulders, his sapphire gaze meeting two pools of perplexed green. "Giles knew your mum. Before she died."

"What?" she whispered, her tone just barely audible.

"Joyce came into the library and requested some facts about a building she was gonna purchase- turn it into some kind of art gallery. She was curious about its history. Rupes helped her and they began to grow quite fond of one another."

"I need to sit down. I need to...oh God." Without even thinking, she slid her slender frame into the grass at her feet, breaking out of Spike's grasp and digging her fingernails into the dirt at her disposal.

"Buffy, love, you have to under-"

"I don't have to understand _anything_," she hissed. "You kept this from me. After what we- what I...after everything. You kept it from me. My own _mother_ kept it from me. How could she do that? How could she not tell me she was seeing him? How…it was why he seemed to recognize me at Jenny's house, wasn't it? Like he knew something and he wasn't saying."

"They were only lookin' out for you, sweet bit. You have to believe that. After what your old man did to you and your mum, can you really blame her? She was only tryin' to protect you."

"Protect me?"

"Which is exactly what Rupert did while you were in prison. Got the coven to watch over you, keep you safe. It prevented Adlam from gettin' his way and giving you an early death. If he could've gotten to you sooner, Slayer, he would've. The blueprints he wanted were just a ruse, but they're a connection, nonetheless. Never intended to do a damn thing with 'em. Can't see how he'd know what went on between Giles and your mum, either. But he did. Took me a good bleeding while to see it, but I doubt he's even been here. He'd have no reason to be. Not now."

"I don't...why?"

"The house is still worth a look, if only to try and get the wheels in your noggin going." He went to reach for her and was mildly dismayed when she refused his help in standing upright, smacking away his offer without a second thought. "But I think we should shift our focus to the art gallery. We need to find out if anyone bought it after your mum passed."

"What does her art gallery have to do with anything?"

"I'm not sure. Could be there's something there. Something he wants. It was important to Joyce, wasn't it? She'd have put a great deal of work into maintaining the place."

"If he needed something, he would've already gotten it. All he'd have to do is a locator spell, right? Isn't that how it usually works with magic? Even if he didn't know where to start, Rack should've been able to help him with it."

"Not if Rupert was hiding that from 'em too," he pointed out. "Makes it more difficult to track that way."

"That would mean no one was able to buy it."

"It does."

"But the Saunders house still gives me the wig. I can see how he'd maybe point us in the direction of the gallery with hinting around about those blueprints near the house, but what if there's a big piece we're missing with this? He could bypass the locks with more magic."

"Well, I've been workin' the field a lot longer than you have, and I'm inclined to think he isn't gonna make it that simple for us. If Rupert retained ownership of the gallery after your mum's death, he wouldn't have sold any of the artwork. It'd still be right where she left it."

"You're saying Adlam is aware that Giles took it over."

"I am. Intend to bring it up with Rupes first chance I get, too. The clever wanker's kept too much from me for far too long."

"You don't like him, do you?" she brought forth then.

"Giles?"

"Ashford Adlam."

"I would've if the bastard had left well enough alone," Spike confessed. "Going after the slayer line wasn't gonna solve his problems. He knew it. He knew it from the beginning, but he let that sodding desire for revenge take over his life. Who he was, what he'd been through- he threw it all away like garbage. Dark magic can't bring Clara back. There are consequences to tampering with forces like that, and he knew he'd be better suited to offing anyone who'd had a hand in it. If anything, his target should've been Angelus. That's where the anger came from, and that was where he needed to vent it. Who knows, though? Maybe he already found him and killed him, too. I'd be next on the list, eh?" He winced somewhat, as if doing what he could to avoid a vivid recollection of the traumatic memory. "I didn't participate in the festivities that day, but I was still there. In his mind, I'm just as equally at fault. He'd level out the entire system if he could."

"So slayers, Watchers, and vampires lose in his little scenario, because to him we're all of the same amount of bad."

He nodded. "Even if Cordelia hadn't intervened when she did, we still would've met, Buffy."

"Because he wanted us to," she sufficed.

"He didn't just start this overnight, and if we're-" His micro beeped twice in his ear, giving him what he needed to begin the jaunt up to the empty residence, urging her to follow him. Activating the contraption to talk mode, he grinned as he spoke. "It's possible I'll owe you again, Harris, but thanks. Came through in a pinch, you did."

"Willow and I convinced them to grab a burger and a shake while we took their post and stood watch. Candy from a baby. And if it's any consolation, let's just say Lockley's the smartest one in the bunch. These guys were probably tempted to get into a van with strangers growing up and didn't bat a single eyelash. That said, I just hope this is worth it. I'd advise you to get in and get out, because they might do a final run on the heat signatures and there'll be nothing we can do to stop it."

"Think I already have something that'll help with that, thanks to Andrew."

"That's okay then. We'll catch up with you tomorrow. Scooby meeting at Caritas?"

"I'll run it by Lorne."

"Great. Take care of yourself, buddy."

Buffy frowned as he disconnected, her hands promptly sliding over her hips. "You opened it without me?"

"It's a device that repels the heat signature from inside a building or house," he explained. "You wouldn't have been that intrigued, Buffy, trust me."

"Well, I thought I did, but-"

"Would you like to hold it?" he cut in.

"Maybe," she stated quietly, finding it terribly hard to stay mad at him. Her eyes widened when he placed an item the size of a quarter into the palm of her hand, warning her not to press the tiny button in the middle of it, very much against activating it prior to crossing the threshold.

"You set it down just beyond the doorway once we're in and it'll shield us from whatever fancy gadgets they've got up their sleeves. I would've had Jenny obtain a slightly more advanced protection spell for us, but this is harder to crack. Andrew's made sure of it, as he's used 'em on occasion himself."

"We should give him a kiss," Buffy commented good-naturedly.

"That's your department, not mine. I bloody well know he's still a genius and that's enough for me."

"Yeah, yeah. Doesn't change the fact that he's sweet on you," she taunted.

"We've only got one shot at this, Goldilocks, so make it count."

"I haven't been here in seven years, Spike. Aside from a box full of Christmas decorations, how bad can it be?"

"Taking the back way would be a start," he quipped. "Thank God Rosenberg mapped me out a shortcut."

"I thought it was what you wanted," she demanded. "You made such a big stink out of being discovered by Kate's goons, that I-"

"Quiet."

"What?"

"Quiet," he repeated, his blues sliding into amber for the second time that night, meticulously surveying the area around them, and uttering a fairly audible growl in his throat. Sniffing the air, he shook his head, unable to deny there was something amiss. "Looks like we're not the only ones who've come through this way the last few days. Whoever it was did an awfully decent job of covering their tracks, too. Used some serious magicks to do it."

"I told you he's already been snooping," she accused. "You were all like, 'poo poo, he wouldn't have any reason to come through here now and make a day out of it. He's probably more taken with the gallery, Buffy.' " She smacked him hard against the chest. "Well, surprise, Sherlock. You finally miscalculated."

He gritted his teeth in annoyance, wondering why he always seemed to be torn between a good old fashioned fight that dulled the senses or kissing the breath right out of her. "I'm not picking up on a fresh scent, which means it was over twenty-four hours ago."

"I suppose the house rules still apply to vamps too."

"House rules?" he questioned.

"You know, the whole can't-enter-unless-someone-invites-you-inside thing? In this case it would have to be me, because I'm the only living occupant."

"Not true, and for the record, that's an absolute pile of hogwash, because no one has inhabited this place for a very long time. Your so-called _rule_ is rendered obsolete."

"But what about your neighbor lady back at your apartment? Wouldn't she have to actually ask you to come inside even though you guys live in the same building? All of the movies I've seen-"

"They're just that," he advised, straining against keeping his temper in check. "Movies. Of which you've sodding seen too many. Although, I'll give you the one about Mrs. Brinkman."

"Told you so."

"It's always made me real envious of not actually being a real boy," he confessed softly. "To be able to go wherever you want, do whatever you want, it's...liberating. Not that I haven't had a counter spell temporarily pushed through during one of my investigations if I had to enter a house by force. Some of the homicides Harris and I encountered included domestic violence gone bad."

"Like if the current owner was still alive, but knocked somebody off?"

"Yeah," he acceded. "It gets a bit tricky sometimes, but I never gave him a reason to suspect I wasn't human when we worked together. Almost slipped a couple of times, but didn't give myself away. He wouldn't have believed me, anyway. Red implied it took some convincing when she told him about the book she'd found, and even now you can tell he's trying to do his bleeding best to accept it without offending me."

"We're here," she mumbled then.

"So we are," he echoed. "Drop the device in the foyer, love."

"Too bad we couldn't come by during the daytime. I'm thinking it wouldn't look nearly so gloomy. I mean I didn't expect anyone to keep up with the trim or the property line, but the amount of weeds in the front yard alone is totally inexcusable."

"Enjoy a bit of landscaping, do you?"

"Maybe a garden," she surmised, shrugging. "My mom used to love flowers."

"Well, it's a pity it's not what we're here for."

"Christmas star, murder. Got it. And not necessarily even in that order."

"I didn't intend for that to sound so callous."

"It's all right, Spike, really. I get it."

"It's just...you've gotta understand that we can't afford to dream about what should've been and what is. Bet your mum would've said the same thing had she been here. She was a career oriented woman with goals and a future in mind for you. She wouldn't have wanted you to dwell on what never was."

Buffy waited patiently as he slipped his identification card through the slot at the front door, the locks unclicking with a profound clack. She could hear him pronouncing a fair number of words in the Latin variety under his breath, and figured it was a way he'd been taught to cover his tracks so no one would know he'd accessed the entrance log to get inside, as each effort was likely categorized as an attempted burglary with the data being fed straight back to the department. She bent down and set Andrew's heat repellent gadget on the hardwood floor, her thumb brushing the button before she jumped back just a tad, its activated contents engulfing them in what she supposed was meant to be a kind of invisible force field of sorts.

"I don't know if I would've wanted what never was," she admitted, referring to the discussion he'd just raised with her. "What already is seems to be working out just fine for me. Minus the having been in prison thing, that is. I really could've done without that. But it led me to you, so big silver lining there."

"Thanks ever so," he drawled.

"It's a little surreal, you know? I remember when it was so full of life in here. But I guess it's procedure, isn't it? Confiscate the paintings, take them into evidence. Cover the furniture. I think I've been around you too long, because I've sure got a good handle on the drill."

"Everything they took would've been returned," Spike informed her. "And unless there's some massive breakthrough in the case, all possessions taken during your arrest would have been released and brought back here long ago."

"They weren't," she insisted. "There were two paintings in that hallway and one by the stairwell. Each one had a gold frame. Mom loved to show them off whenever she could, so I knew they had to be rare and totally pricey."

"Art thief doesn't exactly fit Adlam's profile. If he's responsible, and I'm not saying he is, this goes way beyond my scope of reasoning."

"Maybe he wanted some souvenirs. Killers do that, you know. They either grab it the night they commit the crime or come back once the cops have left."

Spike studied the bare walls, running his fingers over his lips. "There was a case Harris and I worked about two years ago where a young girl was presumed dead and her murderer kept phoning the station, messin' with us with claims that he'd gone and disposed of the body, leaving these ridiculous riddles as to where we might find her. Turned out she wasn't dead at all and he was basically holding her captive in a barn behind his house. He'd taken some items from the victim's home to make her feel more at ease while the son of a bitch got busy negotiating with us for cash."

"My mom's dead," she emphasized.

"I realize that, love, but after my crazy little blueprint theory, you have to-"

"How long did that guy have the girl?"

"Four months," he sided. "Which, yeah, pales to seven years. But there's always been something that hasn't quite been right here. You feel it. You've tried not to, but you do."

"I feel strange about being back here, but seeing as I was there that night and saw her body, there really isn't any more to it. I can see that you want to take the pain away, but it never really leaves. In time you think you can forget it, and-"

"You don't. Been there myself, Slayer. Being a vampire has its perks, yet you almost never hear about the loss and the heartache part of it."

"Maybe that's because vampires aren't really recognized for sharing cuddly feelings."

He laughed in spite of the situation, his eyes settling on the spotless coral colored carpeting that ran the length of the foyer and the light beige hue plastered upon the walls. "How much did you really know about your mum?"

"Know?"

"All reports indicate she hadn't been seeing anyone in a romantic capacity at the time of her death, but Rupert's story contradicts the ones her co-workers at the gallery gave to police. Just goes to show you that you can be best mates with the birds at your job and maintain a whole other life outside of it. You were her daughter, Buffy. Isn't there-"

"Do we need to go over the part where I saw her body again?"

"Magic makes us see what we want to. It can make even the most implausible scenarios plausible. Adlam didn't just wake up yesterday and decide to play with the dark arts. We've been over this already, which means we both know he's had plenty of practice. When he surrendered his body to whatever bloody power trip he gave up his life for, he had a good idea of what he was gettin' himself into. He's been consistent, but he won't fail to improvise if his plans go off the rails. Willy's is proof positive of that."

"Off the rails..."

"Maybe if we go up to your mum's room, it might trigger-"

"No. It won't trigger anything."

"You can't know that. Look, don't worry about the Christmas star right now. It's not what we were originally gonna come here for in the first place, anyway. You need to go up those steps and start sorting out what happened that night. You say you can't recall it, but you won't know for sure unless you try. It's all there." He reached over and gently tapped her temple. "You just have to pull it out."

"I don't think I can."

"Then we're not leavin' 'til you do."

"You've lost it, you know that? You really have. I came home from a party and found my mom naked and dead in her bed, and you want me to relive every single detail in surround sound. Did it ever occur to you that the rapes are the only wildly vivid _details_ that're up here? My body was violated and they threatened me so they could. You're the only one I've let touch me that way outside of those guards, and we haven't even had sex yet. I let you in, Spike. Not all the way, but I let you in."

"You're stalling 'cuz you know it wasn't her."

"What are you talking about?"

"You were fearless in that strip club, Buffy. You took out those men like-"

"Yeah, and I killed human beings. I killed people who were no different than I was before this magic guy messed with them and warped their brains against their will. It's just like what they did to me in prison, only I wasn't a _murderer_ before that day. But I'm sure as hell one now." She moved toward him, angrily shoving his chest, his legs hitting the back of a small table perched against the wall behind him. "But you don't care, do you? You don't care, because you've killed, too. And the worst part was, you liked it. Back then, you enjoyed it. So I guess we're exactly alike now, aren't we? Two peas in a stupid pod."

He grabbed her wrists before she struck his chest again, walking her backwards until she tumbled onto a sofa draped with a long white sheet. Kneeling before her, he gingerly ran the pad of his thumb across her cheek, brushing away the fresh tears. "Somewhere inside you've always held out hope, haven't you?"

"Hope for what?" she sniffled, as she just gave up and let the tears fall with intemperance, keenly aware that it wasn't the first time she'd broken down in his presence and how it likely wouldn't be the last.

"That your mum is as alive as you are."


	21. Chapter 21: Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Chapter Twenty-One: Cold Hands, Warm Heart

_Summers' Residence_

9:29 PM

"Is that really so bad?" she asked in a small voice.

He gently shook his head and released his hold on her right wrist, his own emotions threatening to cloud his judgment as he moved to distance the space between them, his hands plunging themselves deep within the pockets of his black duster. His fingers immediately curled themselves around the pack of cigarettes he found there, contemplating the all too appealing option of venturing outside for a smoke so he could mentally scold himself for the detriment he faced in continuing to involve himself so personally with her case. Of course, the fact that it was getting more intricately woven by the minute wasn't exactly lost on him, either. "No."

"Then that's a relief, I guess."

"I've actually been curious about something Harris told me the night we found Hart all sprawled out in that room, but didn't think it meant anything 'til now. Made me wonder if what we're exchangin' here tonight ain't exactly nonsense."

"Was it about my mom?"

He nodded. "Indirectly, mind you. It...Harris mentioned the hubby and the kid. The family Jennifer left behind." He walked over to the mantle above the fireplace and leaned his weight against it, imagining the framed photographs that had likely graced it when the house had been alive and warm with conversation, miles away from the darkness that had eagerly consumed and invaded it following Buffy's shame and arrest. "She has a daughter. Little chit's name is Beth."

"Beth," she repeated slowly. "Which is sometimes short for Elizabeth..."

"I would've noticed it sooner, but after you'd asked me to stop calling you that, it-"

"You forgot about it, because you already had the connection with the J's and the stuff tying Jennifer's death to the attack on Jenny Calendar. Her kid's name would've been the least of your worries. It was just a name."

"I believe it's more than that now."

"I'm the reason she had to die," she put forth simply. "Why her family no longer has a mother, a wife. You said I- but I am. "

"Think you know it's a lot more complicated, love." He dutifully ignored the persistent urge to reach for a cig as it continued to nag him. "I didn't know about you, for one. There would've been no way for the department to piece it all together. We hadn't received any tips from informants that Hart's life was in danger or being threatened in any way. Way it looked the other night, the consensus is she knew exactly what was going on and met that ponce Adlam of her own free will. We're well aware he played her now, of course, but her death couldn't have been prevented."

"If there were no slayers, it could've," she pointed out. "That's what's driving this whole sick and stupid plan Adlam's been trying to execute, isn't it? I'm the one who keeps getting away."

"Slayer before you wasn't as lucky. Same with her Watcher. Guess it's a good thing you've got me on your side, yeah?" he added, trying to lighten the mood just a bit.

She only shrugged. "I'm really starting to wonder if having you on my side is actually entirely of the good."

He looked up rather sharply, pinning her with a hard blue gaze. "That right? Well, maybe you'd fare better if I left you to it then. Maybe I'll just go and-"

"I'm joking, Spike."

His expression immediately softened. "And as refreshing as it is to hear that, pet, I don't really think it's appropriate in lieu of the circumstances. Gettin' back into the specifics of it, it's not exactly unheard of in the world of magic for someone's death to be greatly exaggerated. I've been acquainted with a few warlocks in my time who've got what it takes to pull it off. That's not to say they don't pay for it later when everything starts going to hell for 'em and they have to answer for the consequences. Already knew about it when they signed up for it."

"That's why you want me to try and remember what I saw that night. You think what I saw and what actually happened could be two different things."

"You were young, Buffy. It was late and you were probably a bit knackered from the party." He went and sat down beside her, folding his hands in front of him so that his arms rested upon his knees, his line of vision studying the carpeting. "The report didn't mention any alcohol in your system, which I s'pose was just another reason for 'em to deem you competent of havin' committed the crime."

"Yeah, they...her blood was on me, because I'd touched her. I didn't think. It was...I mean I thought she'd just lost consciousness. I was trying to help. My mom was naked and covered in blood, and I-"

"Or what you thought was your mum," he gently corrected.

"I could smell the blood," she told him softly. "It smelled like real blood."

"Tell me more about this party you went to. Who was hosting it? Did you know 'em well?"

"It was my friend, Oz. Uh, Daniel Osbourne. But we all just called him Oz. The party was to celebrate the news that his band Dingoes Ate My Baby had scored a playing gig at one of the local clubs. They were sophomores in college and had been trying to make a name for themselves. Devon sang, while Oz was on lead guitar. Devon basically used being in a band as an excuse to get girls and Oz was more of the impression that he'd only jump if the right one came along. He said Devon was just looking for a quick lay and he was right."

"He ever hit on you?"

"Why?" she returned, smiling. "So you can defend my honor and beat him up for me? It was seven years ago, Spike. He's seen my face on the news and got wind of my arrest. All my friends did, which is why I don't have any left. I really don't think dating a criminal is gonna look too good on his resume."

"Don't think datin' would have been on his mind, Slayer."

"Fair enough. But he so wasn't even my type anyway, so I have no idea why we're still talking about this."

"You didn't notice anyone watchin' you at the party? Nothing out of the ordinary?"

"Well, there was a drunk guy named Cameron who fell in the pool. It was kind of funny, because he was on the swim team and he started crying for someone to come save him. He really thought he was gonna drown after all those Martinis."

"Sounds like a real wanker."

"He tried to get with me my junior year. So short lived, it probably wasn't even a thing. I was sixteen and we got to talking at this bonfire he invited me to. The creep offered me a ride to school the next day, but ruined his chances when he made some extremely suggestive comments- one of which included whether or not I was wearing a bra. I punched him in the nose, and because he was humiliated that a girl had gone and done it, he didn't dare breathe a word of it to anybody. Loser."

"Won that battle, didn't you?"

"I totally did," she confirmed happily. "It was just too bad it led to an even bigger loser called Scott."

"Scott was the...actual boyfriend?"

"Yeah, but he was just like the others." She shook her head, laughing quietly. "I mean it just figures that the first guy who comes along and treats me right isn't even human."

"We've both had our share of some bad ones," Spike murmured.

"Bad ones?"

"Relationships? Seems to me if this Scott bloke had bothered sticking around and had minded his manners- at least for a little while, he would've made quite a name for himself once they tossed you in prison. Sold your life story to make a quick buck."

"I'm thinking yes," she agreed, "because he was just that slimy."

"I've encountered my share of demons who've had the slime part down and were a real nice bunch to be around. Had a couple brews with 'em and found out they could really hold their liquor."

"I'll just pretend you didn't say that."

He grinned as he shot her a brief glance of amusement. "Look, much as I've enjoyed participating in a blast from your past here with what took place at the party and life in general, we're not really gettin' anywhere. Maybe it'd be better if you tried going upstairs now. I'd be right behind you and if there's anything you can recall about Adlam, this would be your final curtain call. It stated in the report that your mum opted to decline house security back then, so there weren't any cameras monitoring the grounds. A small detail, at best, but even if you'd had 'em I imagine he would've magically deactivated each one before he set foot on your property."

"Her nightstand," Buffy muttered in what was deathly close to a whisper.

He leaned toward her, placing his ear near her lips. "What's that, pet?"

"She wasn't on any medications, but...well, there was some kind of bottle there. I just assumed it was from some recent trip to the doctor's when I first saw it, because-"

"She didn't always tell you everything, did she?" he prompted. "It's why I asked how well you knew her. I know she's your flesh and blood, but sometimes even those closest to us have some surprises up their sleeves. Things we know nothing about."

Buffy got up, her legs a bit wobbly as she began to bravely make the journey to the stairwell, steadying herself with one hand against the wall while she advanced each step one at a time, her green eyes suddenly plagued with what Spike could only determine was a kind of loss. It was as if that tragic day that had been haunting her since the first night in holding was finally starting to unravel and come full circle in her mind, consuming her consciousness with a rather horrifying glimpse that seemed too real to be a reverie. She was in essence reliving her actions the only way she knew how- embracing the nightmare world that had preyed upon the most fragile of her fears.

"Buffy?"

"Mom?" she called out, as if she hadn't heard him. "Mom, I'm home! I know, I know, I get it- I'm a little late, but Oz was the only one I could get to give me a ride, because everybody else already left. Oh, and Amy totally ditched me, too, by the way, and she is so gonna hear about the next time I see her, because she practically begged me to go tonight. Something about how guys in a band made her all hot. Mom?"

Spike followed her as she reached the top of the stairs and continued through the dark hallway, stopping to enter a room with a dresser and a small table perched beside a bed composed of a wooden frame and a bare mattress, which, along with the rug below, were new additions in compliance with the fresh coat of paint that had likely been applied to the walls to mask the scent of blood and death.

"Mom, are you even listening to me? I said..." She flipped on the light switch to her left, but didn't seem to register the fact that it no longer worked. Her hand went to her mouth, her feet slipping out of sneakers Spike could only surmise must have been high heels she'd worn for the party, her body racing toward the bed where the woman who'd cared for her since birth was surrounded by a vicious pool of blood. He saw her fall to her knees, as they scraped across the hardwood floor and onto the carpet, her hands reaching out to forcefully shake a body that wasn't really there.

He'd seen so much during the course of his existence, but nothing had prepared him for this. For the desperation etched so clearly across a pretty face now stricken with tears, or the way in which she pulled away to inspect the invisible metallic redness that now lined her hands and coated them with the pungent stench of necrosis. It was sodding heartbreaking and he could feel it. He could feel every ounce of her pain as it coursed through him and flooded his senses, leaving him just as wide open and vulnerable as the slayer before him.

"Mom? Mommy? Mom, wake up. Please, Mom. I don't know what to do. Mom!"

He had to snap her out of it. Had to break the trigger that had set her off in the first place.

Walking hesitantly toward her, he enclosed both hands over her shoulders, urging her to lift herself to her feet. When she shook out of his grip and a fist caught him square in the jaw, he very nearly tumbled into the wall, the agility and speed he usually possessed failing to kick into motion before he'd incurred the injury. It was safe to say he hadn't anticipated her reaction any more than he'd anticipated his own, roughly barreling toward her and springing into action, grabbing her around the waist and slamming her into the mattress. She screamed as she clawed at him and scratched her nails across his cheek, drawing the same blood she'd been so thoroughly convinced she'd bore on her palms only seconds ago, her chest heaving as he yanked her wrists up over her head. "Slayer, look at me. _Buffy_."

"Why won't you wake up?" she sobbed. "I need you to wake up. I need-"

"Your mum's not here," he spoke over her, and the sound of her heart hammering against her ribs echoed in his ears, making it almost too much to take as the thrill of it found him shifting into game face, his mouth hovering lightly over her neck. "Buffy."

Failing to get the response from her that he wanted, he closed his amber eyes, repeatedly telling himself that it was for her own good as his fangs sank into the sensitive skin of her throat and took two strong pulls before drawing back and lapping his tongue over the open wound, steadily sealing it shut with as much care as he could muster. She blinked and her wide emerald eyes met his, registering his presence above her with obvious bewilderment while she tried to regain what composure she still possessed to get a better handle on her surroundings. "You bit me."

"I did."

"Was it a-"

"No," he cut her off, shaking his head. "It wasn't a claim."

"I don't understand."

"You were somewhere else there for a bit and it was the only thing I could do to get you to come back to me. Wherever it was, you wouldn't let me in." He reverted to his human visage and relinquished his hold over her wrists, experiencing the warmth she had to offer when she gingerly placed her fingertips to his battered cheek, wincing slightly at her initial take of the damage she'd inflicted upon him.

"I did that, didn't I?"

"Buffy, it's nothing. Doesn't matter. Only thing that matters is that you're okay."

"How can you say that? I almost mauled you and you're bleeding, Spike. I wasn't even in control of what I- I remembered, didn't I? All of it. From the night that I...the night I found her."

"Everything except the sodding bottle, apparently. The one you mentioned downstairs."

"The glass bottle." She touched the side of her neck, noting that it was still tender from the pressure he'd exerted upon it. "The top was like what people use to drop something in their eye. It was small and it wasn't filled very much. I grabbed it and I hid it. Before the cops came. I didn't want them to see it. I didn't even know what was in it. I still don't."

"There's no record of any bottle that matches that description in the files. Are you sure you-"

"I'm positive."

"Can you recall where, exactly?"

"When I was little, my mom would always tell me I took the concept of hide and seek somewhat too literally, because whenever we'd play she could never find me. She gave it about fifteen minutes before she'd yell she gave up and asked me to come out so we could play a new game. Always said I was too good at it, and it made me so happy, you know? I was young and I was naive and just knowing I had one up on her had me thrilled beyond all measure. I basically lived for her approval, because I sure never got it from my dad."

"So that would mean..."

"It's in the basement in the secret compartment."

"Right then," he acknowledged. "Secret compartment."

"Do vampires always bite the neck?"

Jumping from one subject to another was vastly becoming an irritating little habit of hers and it was one he couldn't help but find massively endearing. "It...does tend to be the preferred method of choice, love. Why?"

"But it's not the only method, is it? There's other spots, too."

"Well, yeah."

"What are they?" she questioned.

He raised a scarred eyebrow as he tilted his head. "You're not gonna ask me to bite you again, Buffy."

"It's because it's more intimate if you do it somewhere else, isn't it?"

He sighed unnecessarily, realizing she wasn't going to give up on pressing the issue until she got some kind of a response on his part. "Dru and I engaged in it plenty with foreplay. It's not only limited to humans. Vampires can just as easily get a high from it, too. I've done the breast and inner thigh with her before, but usually with victims it's the neck. Sweetest spot there is." He reached over and applied his index finger to trace the length of her puncture wounds, demonstrating. "Angelus, however, was naturally all over the map. He'd taken em' any way he could get 'em, which you probably already know by now. Aimed for pain and not pleasure. I was always more about the latter."

"Oh."

"Bloody hell, you're redder than an apple, Slayer. Good to know I caused it. Seems to be a problem I might have to look into rectifyin'."

"I'm going to the basement," she announced nervously, as she pushed away from him, stopping only to pick up her discarded sneakers on the way.

He laughed and trailed behind her as she made a path to the closed door just off the kitchen, twisting the knob and descending down the steps, feeling her way down into the darkness. Spike retrieved the zippo lighter from his pocket and flicked it on, illuminating the bleak atmosphere with its tiny glow while he made a mental note to steer clear of the cobwebs that hung from the low ceiling. It occurred to him then that despite the disarray that littered the unkempt front yard and the obvious lack of attention the house had been shown minus the agents playing clueless idiots at the edge of the driveway, someone was still maintaining the house in terms of financially staking a claim on the property. Unless it was being done through an anonymous means, he had a pretty decent idea of who was footing the bill until Buffy could return to reclaim the place that held her childhood hopes, dreams, and memories.

"There should be a flashlight somewhere around here," she spoke more to herself than to him. "But all we really need is a loose floorboard. Mom didn't want to go the dirt route, so she had them install this shortly after she moved in. I carved my initials into the wood."

"Quite the curious adventurer, weren't you?"

"Who wasn't at that age?" she grabbed his zippo from him without warning and shone it over the board at her feet, her countenance brightening into a small chuckle. "Either way it served me well six years later, because it's still here. Hold the light."

"Was tryin' to do just that before you grabbed it from me and started taking charge all girly like."

She rolled her eyes. "Just hold it."

"Light's not going anywhere, sweet bit, so do you worst."

"There it is with the worst again," she retorted, as she lifted up the board and held up the missing item in question, her persistence plainly evident when she shoved it toward him. "What you really wanted to say is my best."

"Yeah, that _must_ be it." He brought it up next to the zippo and read the tiny phrase that had been carefully etched into the bottom of the glass, recognizing it as belonging to one of the older, more powerful incantations he'd encountered in the duration of decades he'd spent as a vampire. He had it on good authority that it reeked utterly of black magic and could only be used for one thing once the liquid had been distributed in the designated area for the ritual. A ritual that was so misleading it allowed for the corruption of innocence through its malicious ways.

"You know what it is, don't you?"

No reason to break it to her soundly, he mused. "There's not an actual name for it as far as I'm aware, but the fine print bears the phrase 'drink me' in Latin, which is your basic comical jest from Alice in blooming Wonderland. You're not actually supposed to drink it, as it's quite potent, but to someone who knows jack about magic, it's been known to promote hallucinations and memory loss. Hard to come by, too." Spike turned it over again in his fingers, frowning. "Could be he drugged your mum with it that night, but I tend to think he went the way of the ritual instead. It's easier to master and anyone who enters the room breathes it in, anyway. Overwhelms the senses, which would explain those minutes that seem to have vanished on you. And if you're in search of a Cliff's Notes version that's not nearly as complicated as that whole damn lot was, it's essentially telling you that what you see isn't always what you get. It messes with what you know to be true. Toys with your whole head 'til things that aren't real _become_ real. There's a spell that goes along with it, and you've gotta be pretty well-versed to perform it correctly. A novice would be settling for numerous performance issues."

"It's Adlam's territory. He thought he would be getting me, right? But I was already at the party. Still, he could've waited until I got home. He didn't, and that's what bothers me."

"Thought about that myself. We established early on that he was aimin' for you and got Joyce for all his troubles. Could be it's what he was itchin' to do all along. Probably wanted you in that facility for what he figured was easy access. Guess he didn't factor in Rupes stepping up to shield his efforts."

"But what would the spell have done for me? It wasn't the-"

"It would have faked your death, just like it did hers. Made it a snap to carry you out, while what wasn't really you bled out all over the sheets. Would've killed you, either way."

"Somehow that's not any better."

"It's not, no, but it also explains why you still feel your mum is with you. It's 'cuz she probably still is. Don't know where Adlam took her, but unless they switched locations multiple times over the years, there might be a way to find out. It's all old fashioned grunt work at this point, but at least you recovered the missing link and all's well could be ending well. Looks like you might just get your Christmas miracle, after all."

"Speaking of Christmas, I really need to find that star."

He found himself clenching his jaw, which was yet another mannerism that seemed to happen at regular intervals whenever he was in the vicinity of her presence. "Have you heard a single thing I've said?"

"I think it's in one of the boxes stacked up against the wall over there. Mom and I-"

"Listen, love, I get that this is more than just a shock to you right now, as well as something you obviously never expect to hear in your lifetime, but I need to know you're with me and haven't flown the bleeding chicken coop to Never Never Land."

"Never Never Land is Peter Pan."

"So it is, but I need your promise that you're right here with me comprehending everything, so we can keep it together."

"And where will you go after I've found her?" she demanded, hands stubbornly slanted against her hips, her green orbs burning into his blues. "Are you just gonna jump ship and bail on us because you're being all noble and have almost convinced yourself I don't need you anymore? Like it or not, William, I'll probably never be ready for you to not be here, so I suggest you get used to it."

Maybe Rupert was right. Maybe he was falling in love with her. Sod it. Much as he fought to embrace his ever increasing state of denial, he'd always been screwed from the start.

"Can't get rid of me that easily," he tossed back, stepping closer to her, frustration showing in his features at the mention of his real name. "This case is as much mine as it is yours, Buffy, and to walk away from that when it's all wrapped up in something shiny is not how I operate. Never has been. It's one of those infamous rules I can't break. 'Sides, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather stick around in the hope that I'll get to see you without your clothes again, since you hardly seem adverse to the idea these days. Must be bringin' out all of those innermost desires."

"Once a pig, always a pig."

"I'm not the one who nearly killed herself going up a flight of stairs at Caritas."

"Vampire hearing. Should've known."

"I don't like to brag, but yeah. That about sums it up."

"One, you _so_ like to brag. And two, I just wanted to make sure you got your drink."

"Not very convincing, love."

"Look, it's not that I'm not overjoyed at the prospect that I might see her again, it's just- what if she doesn't remember me? What if he's brainwashed her so much that she doesn't even know who I am anymore? How could I ever forgive myself for that when I didn't even-"

"And how could you?" Spike challenged. "The ban was still in full swing seven years ago and you were partying it up with your mates without a care in the bloody world. You were being a teenager. A normal teenager. You wouldn't have been thinkin' about your mum being taken by a Watcher who wanted you dead, which is why she got upgraded to bait, so he could have his fun with her first while he waited for you. If she's anything like her daughter, she's been fightin' him every step of the way."

"And what about Jennifer? Her body did the same thing my mom's did. Does that- I mean do you think he bluffed his way through that one, too?"

"You're wondering if Hart havin' a child had any bearing on his decision."

"He wants to hurt slayers, not children, right? Then again, the damage is already done. Even if Jennifer were to come back, they'd accuse her of witchcraft and she'd serve out the rest of her life behind bars like me."

"You're not behind 'em anymore," he reminded her. "So what'd you say in the spirit of the holiday season I help you look for your precious star and you stop feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. We'll try to get a read on a possible location for your mum tomorrow, as I don't think we can do much more in the way of tonight. He won't kill her, so we've got more workin' for us than against us. We'll need to step up the training a lot more, though, and see if there's a way to kill the bastard. I don't think pounding his face into a bloody pulp is gonna do anything other than piss him off."

"If we can even get that close. He's probably got guard dogs or something."

"Never really gave credence to the whole teamwork vibe, so I doubt he'd get a pack of wild animals together to fight for him. Much rather do it himself."

She began to dive through one of the boxes she'd pointed out a short while ago, withdrawing various ornaments wrapped in tissue paper, and a bag full of plastic bulbs lying beneath them, the assortment composed of three or four different shades of blue. There was something that appeared to be a handmade creation made of pine cones with red string, and Buffy delighted in the recollection as she took herself back to the day she'd made it from scratch in second grade, finding it awfully hard to contain her immense excitement after she'd finished. The little girl in her absolutely couldn't wait to show her mother her newfound talent- albeit oddly amateurish. No, it hadn't really been a museum worthy piece of art, but she'd proudly taken credit for it just the same, reminding herself that her class had gone on to win the competition for best crafted decorations among the grade levels.

A plastic container at the bottom caught her attention and she quickly pulled it out, her immense delight transpiring into a full blown smile. "Found it!" she declared. "Found it, found it, found it."

"Surprised you can find anything at all down here with all this bleeding clutter," Spike casually remarked as he halted the chore of digging through his own box, seemingly relieved that he wouldn't have to engage himself in the mundane task of piling anything back inside.

"Say what you want, but I can almost guarantee you the holidays were made for clutter."

"Now you sound like Calendar."

"Great minds think alike then."

"Bollocks," he insisted. "It's just another excuse for women to take over the buggering house."

"Sounds like somebody's turning into Mr. Scrooge this Christmas season."

"Says Little Miss Tiny who'd be blooming ecstatic to have a seasonal job as an elf in a kiddie mall entertaining the spoiled nibblets who pee on Santa's lap."

"Hey, I am not that shor-"

"Buffy." He trailed his eyes upward, and they both overheard the vague creaking suddenly became more pronounced from the floor above, her small hands silently setting aside her find and coming to stand beside him, her complexion paling slightly as she tried to avoid holding her breath. The footsteps paused only briefly and Spike pocketed the glass bottle in his jeans, his enhanced hearing tracking every movement with rigorous accuracy. The laughter that echoed in time with them was chilling and yet so achingly familiar.

"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. There's two trapped inside with nowhere to go. You give me a little something I need and I might be willing to let you leave without taking one of my little tours. C'mon, Spike. What'd ya say? For old time's sake, can I borrow her for awhile? I'll give her back in one piece, I promise. Power's coming off her in waves, I can sense it. This one's got spunk."

Rack.


	22. Chapter 22: Tooth and Nail

Chapter Twenty-Two: Tooth and Nail

10:33 PM

"You really should've had the coven mix you up some more mojo," Rack continued. "But don't worry, I can take care of that. I'll fix you right up and you'll be as good as new. You can have some of the power she's wielding if I can have the girl. How's that? It's a simple trade, right? We won't drain her, we'll just have a little fun."

Spike Pratt merely rolled his eyes. "Under normal circumstances, that wanker up there allows his victims to get high on his so-called _power_ for a flat fee. Imagine it's what he's got in mind for me. It incapacitates, and makes you all disorientated so everything's a bit lightweight and fluffy as it floats around in your cranium."

"So why does he want mine?"

"Something tells me he was ordered to take 'em," he answered. "The origin of slayer powers are in essence demonic. He has to make sure you won't try anything if Adlam expects you in one piece. Needs you helpless. 'Sides, Rack's never been known for following the bloody rules, anyway. He's like me, except-"

"Evil?" she whispered.

"I'm still evil," he protested. "I'm the original big bad of evil. Can show you sodding evil right now if you want."

"Wow, defensive much? I just meant that this guy probably has more of a reputation for it by now. He was locked up, right? That equals so much more bad than you've got in your pinky finger alone. I bet he practically lives off of dark magic and lets it sustain his life force or something."

"Right, which is why you won't be able to take him." Spike held her at arm's length, giving each of her shoulders a quick squeeze, his cerulean gaze slowly meeting hers. "Just...stay down here 'til I come get you, Summers. Are we clear?"

"Yeah, and what if he kills you? What then? I'll still be waiting for you and he'll know exactly where to find me. Look, you said I've been picking up on stuff really fast and that I-"

"Doesn't matter. You're not ready for this."

"Shouldn't that be my decision?" she snapped.

"We've only done weapons," he reminded her. "What Rack is capable of goes beyond weapons. He enjoys manipulating, Buffy, and he uses the same spells Adlam does to do it. Wouldn't be able to live with myself if I let you take him on."

"Fine," she whispered. "But if you die, I'm telling Giles."

"Don't move," he warned her.

"Yes, Dad."

"Bugger that."

"Why? You've got over a hundred years on me," she quipped.

"Wasn't much older than you when I was turned, though." He began to climb the stairwell to the top, craning his head back to shoot her a teasing glance. "The bottom line is, respect your bleeding elders and behave yourself."

"You guys are making this too easy," Rack told him, as he corned the vampire in the entryway to the kitchen, his arms proudly crossed over his chest. His scraggly brown hair and scarred visage complimented his discernibly unkempt appearance, his tall frame clad in a button down denim sleeveless and a dirty white t-shirt, his washed out jeans torn and riddled with holes. "I sent your other two friends on quite a ride outside. Too bad you won't be able to tell me if they enjoyed the trip. But they're the least of our problems tonight, aren't they? Ash wants the slayer, man, and he says you better pay up."

"Sprung you from the big house, did he?" Spike murmured. "Gave you all your goodies back. S'pose you're perfectly content being his lap dog, too. Has you on a leash with nowhere to go."

"That's not how I see it."

"No? 'Cuz word has it you'd be busy settin' up shop again if he hadn't put the whammy on you."

"Rumors," Rack proclaimed, spreading his palms in an innocent gesture that was anything but.

"I'd read you your rights again, but I'd say it's more than just a bit too late for that."

"I'm not going back to prison, Spike."

"Well, you can't blame a bloke for tryin', can you?"

"I guess you can't. But you could make this a lot easier on yourself if you just went with the flow."

"Constrictum." The vampire calmly extended his arm, and watched as a steady stream of blue mixed with tiny flecks of gold came spiraling toward his opponent, binding him within a cleverly woven field of energy that lifted him from the ground and made any kind of movement near to impossible to execute. The detective silently bestowed his humble gratitude to the same coven his mentor had initially sought out to protect Buffy within the confines of the penitentiary, dutifully thanking a God who no longer respected or welcomed him into the fold that the old biddies had essentially gotten off their incantational high horses and lended him some much needed assistance from their end. It was a strangely pleasant feeling as he felt the commands wash over him in waves, quietly filling his mind and resonating deep within the catalyst he called his soul.

Rack laughed as he remained suspended in the air, his stare unrelenting. "This isn't going to hold me. It's borrowed. Haven't you learned by now that these things should be left in the hands of a professional?"

Had the warlock not already possessed the strength he did, the simple Latin phrase should have unwillingly subjected him to a temporary statis where whoever or whatever was trapped in the field would lose consciousness and have rendered themselves unable to function and plan a means of escape from the all-consuming barrier. Spike felt the bones in his face begin to shift as he gradually transformed into his demonic likeness, a smirk gracing his lips. "You show me yours, I'll show you mine," he taunted.

"He goes beyond your basic conjurings now. There's no way to reach him. I felt it the day I met the bastard. He took a little from me, but most of what he has is what he's worked hard to get since he took the deal from down under. Tough nut to crack, even for a cradle-robbing vamp like you."

"Cradle-robbing?" Spike repeated. "That's ballsy of you, especially since I reckon you got more than just a little hard giving those young girls a rush on their way to pleasureville. They may have asked for it when they found your quaint little hideout time after time, but you raped their minds and fed off their thoughts."

"How is it any different than the men who raped your girl before you stepped in to intervene? She got it real good in there, Spike. Up, down, sideways, you name it. She'll never let you touch her that way. Never let you inside- physically speaking, of course. Intimacy frightens her. It's too personal of a connection. Makes her self-serving and compliant. She'll never submit. But you've gotten a taste of her blood now and you'll be craving it like you craved it before you became worthless to your own kind. A pathetic has-been."

"Navitas flatus!" Failing to entertain the notion of allowing the other man time to pry himself from the binding incantation, he uttered the second command with the contempt that had curled itself around the fragile fabric of his heart, and watched in wonder as more energy emerged from his hand, sending the warlock flying across the room and ruthlessly slamming him into the wall, his body slumping lifelessly to the floor. Spike casually strolled up to the unconscious form in front of him and propped Rack up by the collar of his shirt, his arms still restrained beneath the remainder of blue energy that cogently contained him. He slowly tilted the warlock's head to the side and tore into the punctured the flesh on his neck with his fangs, slicing good and deep as he hungrily consumed the red metallic liquid that poured out, dropping him only after he'd drained him. The rush of it, coupled with the dark magicks, was nearly too much for him to handle as he dropped to his knees, having fed more on human blood in the past few hours than he had since he'd won back the spark inside him. He was thoroughly disgusted with himself, reverting back to his more civilized nature, his blue eyes empty as they trained themselves on Rack's lifeless body. "Eximo," he muttered tiredly, as the energy began to gradually dissipate, freeing the corpse from its murderous hold.

Whatever was happening to him now was playing upon the vulnerabilities he'd acquired since the bleeding protection spell that had shielded him had depleted and crumbled to sodding dust at Willy's. The coven hadn't bothered to restore it yet and despite the support they'd just lent him, something told Spike they were just as scared of him as he was right now. It was quite possible they couldn't spare the expense and didn't want to take the chance of protecting a creature he hadn't truly let loose in years. He could just barely feel the presence of his soul, and while it was still very much there inside of him, it was almost as it were being yanked from him- piece by buggering piece until eventually there'd be nothing left of it. He couldn't allow himself to surrender that last ounce of control he'd managed to salvage tonight.

"Spike?"

Her voice was somewhat shaky, as he heard her sneakers cross and caress the carpet, wishing with everything he had that she didn't have to bear witness to the vicious and ugly act he'd just committed and left on public display in her living room, fresh droplets of blood seeping from his fingers as a result of the kill. "Wait for me outside."

"Wait? What are you-" She halted her step, her hand drawing itself across her mouth in horror, her green eyes widening. It was the same gesture she'd mirrored when she'd been upstairs reliving Joyce's death, the disastrously gruesome sight proving to be a bit much for her to amply grasp. "Oh God."

"Buffy, it's-"

"What did you do?" she said quietly.

The accusatory tone she'd taken wasn't lost on him, and he decided the initial approach he wanted to take with her simply wasn't going to cut it. Instead, he masked it and opened himself up to indifference, figuring he'd already bollixed it far beyond recognition anyway. "Don't look so shocked, love. I'd do it again if I had to. Won't have you fightin' me on whether or not he deserved it, either, 'cuz I'm about a hair's breadth away from snapping right now, and I'd rather you be as far away from me as possible if that happens. That candid enough for you?"

"You killed him. You said you weren't like other vampires, and you killed him. How am I supposed to even-"

"Really can't say, though I sure as hell don't want you afraid of me. I've never hid from the fact that I'm a monster. Maybe all that sodding good I've been doing is finally catchin' up with me. But then again, you can't have it both ways, can you? If that son of a bitch over there would've lived, you'd be with Adlam and your mum, and you'd be somewhere I couldn't get to you."

"Did you even ask him where she was? Where he's keeping her?"

"No, and no matter what I threw at him, he wasn't gonna tell me her location." He ardently brought himself to his feet and chanced a calculated stride in her direction, his boots sinking into the rug below him while the blood from his fingers still dripped on it. "But he was right about one thing, wasn't he?"

"And what's that?" she queried so softly he almost didn't hear her.

"I can crave you and crave the blood I took from you, but I'll never really have you, will I?"

"What are you talking about?"

He was only inches away from her, his wet fingertips cradling her chin, as his thumb lovingly traced her jawline. She didn't even flinch, holding her ground with strength that was only getting stronger, and strength he'd always known she possessed. "You. All of you. Can't hurt you, but it doesn't mean what's inside of me won't try. I'm losin' it. I can feel it. And if I do, you won't like what's underneath."

"Losing..."

"The spark, pet."

"Spark? Spike, what-"

"My soul, Buffy. It's what keeps the demon from coming out to play."

"I know, but what makes you think it's gone, or...or _will_ be gone? You were soulless when you won it. You had to have at least _some_ speck of humanity left in you to realize the potential to do good. Even if it...it's Adlam, isn't it? Adlam's the one who's doing it. It's just like Willy's."

"He warned me. He warned me and I didn't listen," he confessed, pointing to his chest. "Now he's taking what's in here and I don't think I'll be able to get it back."

"And it's because of me again, isn't it?"

He ghosted his lips over hers and she very nearly melted, her eyes brimming with tears as she savored the tender gesture, cupping his beautiful face in her hands as she allowed herself to explore the planes of his perfectly sculpted cheekbones. "Buffy..."

"I don't care. Whatever he- whatever you are or whatever you were, Spike, it doesn't matter. Look, as soon as we get back to Caritas, we can call Giles and he can talk to Jenny. Maybe she knows someone else who can help. Maybe if-"

"There's a shop about thirty minutes from here," he stated. "The bird who owns it cloaks with the best of 'em, but she's still a witch. If I can get a hold of a temporary counter spell, I should be able to hold out for a bit longer. Probably cost me a bundle, too- prices they charge."

"Okay, but first we need to get you cleaned up. Because this look? So not of the very good. Can you do that for me?"

He only nodded. "Spotted a small pond out back. Not much, but it'll do. Check on the whelp and Red and I'll meet you in the car."

"Okay," she acknowledged.

"I'll put in a call to the Caretaker regarding the body. Feds won't even know it was here. Git owes me a favor."

"Caretaker?" she repeated, confused.

"Name's Ethan Rayne. He's an old mate of Rupert's, and basically gets stuck with the dirty work whenever we've gotta cover our tracks to comply with the ban. He doesn't ask questions and he does a bloody decent job of wipin' the place of fingerprints and other trace evidence."

"Not that it would be an issue with vampires," Buffy reminded him.

"No, but Rack would've made a statement loud enough for the both of us."

"You really don't want Giles to know, do you?" she inquired then, her line of vision tracking once again to the body of the deceased warlock on the carpet she and her mother had once come home to on a daily basis, more than just a little rattled inside by the course of events that had unfolded since she'd paid the house a visit for the first time in seven years.

"Don't want Giles to know about what?"

"Your soul and the possibility that you may be losing it."

"Rupes told me I wouldn't hold up if I got too close to this case, and low and behold, gramps was right. If he ever got wind of my little problem, he'd tell me I just negated all of the good I'd done and threw it down the crapper. Went and grew soft over a lady. The same lady the coven protected in prison at his request, and the one whose mum he was seeing behind her back before Adlam got his mitts in the pie and wreaked bleeding havoc over everyone and everything."

"It makes sense," she offered.

"You know, on second thought, Goldilocks, follow me out back so I can tend to the dried blood on your chin. You don't get it off that pretty face of yours soon, you'll be a walking aphrodisiac to whatever beasties are lurking about at this hour. Wouldn't want 'em to get a taste of you."

"Oh, you mean like you did?" she countered somewhat playfully as she raised an undeniably curious brow in his direction.

"Already explained myself, pet. Don't see that there's much more to it. Wasn't the same as what I did to Rack. More importantly, Rack deserved it, and as soon as my head's clear again, I promise I'll make it up to you."

After they'd made the most of washing off the remnants of the fresh kill that continued to linger inside, they'd retreated to the edge of the driveway where a recovering Xander and Willow lay bewildered on the pavement, Spike thanking them again in no uncertain terms and telling them to split before the FBI guys returned to guard their fortress after stuffing themselves silly on mountains of junk food. Once he and Buffy were safely in the comfort of his car, he dialed another number.

"Detective William Pratt." Bearing a British accent not all that dissimilar from his mentor's region of upbringing, the voice drawled on. "Business or pleasure?"

"At the moment, neither," the vampire answered honestly where honesty had often failed him. "Want this one off the books. You don't breathe a word of it to anyone." He rattled off the address in question and went into detail as to the type of cleanup the task entailed, confirming a few quid were at stake and wouldn't exactly render the favor completely without merit.

"So tell me. Just how is old Ripper these days? Still living the high life in that dingy apartment with the spectacular view?"

Spike grinned and pulled away from the stretch of curb, gunning it as soon as he made it onto the main road. "I'd wager that's something you should be askin' him yourself. Bet he'd be over the moon if you went and stopped by."

"And the victim's cause of death?"

"Vampire attack."

"Such a shame," Ethan added dryly.

"Ain't it, though?" Spike reached for a cigarette and placed the unlit stick to his mouth. "Either way, this means we're even."

"Oh, I very much doubt we'll ever be even. But for what it's worth, I sincerely enjoyed hearing from you again."

"Same here. Ring me twice to let me know when it's done, yeah?"

"Absolutely."

He disconnected and dragged out his zippo, lighting the cig that dangled from his lips and taking a long drag before finally expunging the smoke. The knuckles of his left hand tightened over the steering wheel as he risked a glance at Buffy, her hands folded clumsily in her lap, her eyes focused on her feet. He knew enough about her now to recognize it as the vaguest sign of insecurity, because no matter how much he'd built her up as the slayer she now was, there'd always be a small part of her that was caught between the future and the past- much the same way he was currently fighting his own internal battle at being ripped apart from the inside out and having the one thing he'd earned fair and square be destroyed by sinister forces whose origins were rooted quite heavily in the darkest of magicks.

She'd helped him retain his humanity and never let him forget that he was a man and not a thing. It hadn't started out that way between them, of course, but had essentially grown into something very much akin to friendship with the truth of it bordering on something he'd couldn't always explain without coming off like a total poofter in the process. He could pray and speak to the Lord without fear of judgment when he wasn't required to show either of his faces in the holy establishment of the church, but if that which was precious and held dear was taken from him, he wouldn't be any better than the fledglings who made their living standing at the gates of Hell demanding retribution for their wayward inclinations and a penchant for greed.

"Feel like telling me what's kickin' about in that head of yours?"

"Does he know? What you are?"

"He might, but I never confirmed or denied. Anything else?"

"Yeah. What's with the pleasure part of the business or pleasure stuff?"

"Don't know. He always says it and I just play along. Next?"

"Do we have to go back to Caritas tonight?"

"No," he said quietly, a part of him strangely relieved she didn't balk at the prospect of being alone with him given how volatile he was after his encounter with Rack. "Have somewhere you'd fancy, sweet bit?"

"A hotel? But not one of those cheap ones with all the cockroaches and icky smelling sheets. One of the nicer rooms," she continued. "With a big Christmas tree and those full length windows that let you see the ocean."

"That all?" he deadpanned.

"Well, it's just...I left my star in the basement and I think I-"

"Bloody hell," he mused, inhaling his last speck of smoke before tossing the cigarette out the open window. "Why didn't you say something before we left?"

"It's fine," she insisted. "More than that, actually, because-"

"Did it on purpose, didn't you?"

Buffy didn't say anything to that, as she neglected to meet the piercing stare he directed her way, unfolding and folding her hands again in rapid succession. "It's wouldn't be fair to her if I took something and used it when she wasn't here to see it. She loved the holidays as much as I do. The least I can do is honor that until we find her."

"What does all this have to do with Caritas?"

"What does who have to do with huh?"

"This…sudden request to be away from all the new friends you've been adding to your list."

"Does there have to be a reason?" she tossed back.

"Can't expect me to dish out a full wad of cash for nothing now, can you?"

"Whatever. Just forget it. Let's go see this witch person you mentioned and see if she'll be able to-"

"Tomorrow," he vowed. "Don't think I realized just how bleeding tired I am tonight. 'Sides, it occurred to me that she's likely already gone home to her beddy-bye."

"Oh."

"I could use another shower, though, and while Lorne's little haven has all the protection we could ever want, I think we need to treat ourselves to a bit of luxury."

"Says the guy who just killed a warlock and might lose his soul," she retorted.

"Don't be a prude, Slayer. It's just for one night, and if you don't like it we can leave. It was your idea, after all."

"That's true," she reasoned.

"Guess I just don't get you being all Little Bo Peep about it to Lorne. You should come out with it and ask him to put up a tree. Might bring in a few more customers once he goes the festive route."

"He's gonna think I'm messing up his place, and I refuse to take advantage of his generosity."

"Oh, piffle. You won't be doing any such thing. He likes you. Thinks you're good for me."

"Little Spike would apparently concur. Although, given the show I got in the bathroom earlier, he's actually nowhere _near_ anything resembling little."

"S'pose I should be flattered you hold my dangly bits in the highest regard."

"Well I've only got what I saw at the facility to compare to, and it's not really all that impr-"

"Stop right there," he advised, and she could have sworn she heard a growl in response.

"Okay, and here I thought you'd be pleased to know you won the contest."

"After what they did to you, they don't even count, Buffy. They forced you and that's the difference. It was self-indulgent. They used you to satisfy their own needs. They didn't treat you right 'cuz they didn't give a damn about you."

"You know what? I don't really feel comfortable talking to you about this anymore. So can we just _not_ be doing this right now?" She turned toward him in her seat and frowned. "On second thought, how about never again?"

"See, I would, love, but you started it. Just like every other sodding time we've had it out. It's you. Just you, in fact." He pulled the car up alongside the shoulder of the road and cut the engine, his blue eyes unreadable as they watched her. "So, all things considered, I say we finish it. Get to the root of your troubles that always seem to turn you into such an uptight bitch."

"I'm not uptight," she snapped.

He raised a dark brow, clearly amused. "Oh, so just a bitch then?"

She slapped him hard across the face, and although it wasn't a first for her, Spike couldn't keep the uneasiness from expanding in the pit of his stomach, immediately regretting the way he'd deliberately goaded and tried to get a rise out of her. But in each instance when he'd sworn with everything he had that they'd found a kind of middle ground between them, she'd revert right back to the girl she was in her cell and taint the progress she'd made like it had never seen the bloody light of day. Sighing, as he became even more disgusted with himself and his persisting inability to reach her, he simply pulled away and exited the vehicle, his boots clomping off into the long stretch of woods that lay just beyond the road.

"Spike?" she called out meekly, her voice failing to reach him as he moved further and further away from her. She tore herself out of her seat and started running after him, cursing herself for what she was about to get herself into. "Spike, wait! Please?"

He didn't acknowledge her until they'd reached what appeared to be some sort of clearing, a decent sized and well-kept cottage overlooking a spotless lake, the trees surrounding it giving it just the right amount of shade to block out the sun's merciless rays. In the soft glow of the moonlight, it almost looked too surreal, and she nearly feared it would vanish at any second and give her yet another painful dose of harsh reality, clawing its way through her at breakneck speed. A low, wooden table was perched near a pair of matching chairs, and she ran her hand delicately across its smooth surface, a plastic vase comprised of red and yellow tulips occupying the middle. The grass was meticulously cut and there was a stack of wood leaning clumsily against the vinyl siding, the tip of an axe embedded in a larger piece that had yet to be broken in half.

"Where are we?" she uttered, swallowing the pang of guilt she still felt.

He withdrew another cigarette and deftly set it ablaze, a small smile lazily falling across his lips as he slowly inhaled. "Come here to write sometimes when I'm feeling burned out on a case."

"And that's totally hunky dory with whoever owns it?"

He laughed. "Doubt they mind, love."

"You know them," she insinuated.

"I suspect I do, considering it's me."

Her mouth opened wide before she surreptitiously shut it again, literally struck speechless by the admission, her eyes as big as saucers.

"You're the only woman I've ever brought up here, Buffy. Needed to show you how much you..." He tapped the slender stick still enclosed between his index and middle finger and brought it back up as he savored the flavor once more, expelling smoke. "Sod it. I was never good at this. Know you wanted a hotel with all the style and flash that goes with it, but I don't think it can capture the beauty I see here or how remarkable she is."

She knew he wasn't referring to the cottage. "Boy, I really screw things up a lot, don't I?"

He snuffed out his cigarette and mindlessly shrugged, his blues gleaming. "I'd give you a free pass there, ducks, but you're fresh out."

"So what does this mean? Why-"

"Why now? Why bring you here in the dead of night and show you my home away from home?"

"Yeah."

"Got a room inside that's the right size for training and a kitchen that'll never let you go hungry. Granted, it's all a bleeding bit domestic, but no one'll know we're here and we've got it all to ourselves. Registered it under my mum's maiden name. I can move some of your stuff in and we'll get you a tree. A real one. Find some gadgets to decorate it with and give you the Christmas you deserve. I know you can't forget what they did to you in there, but this is somewhere you'll be safe. A compromise, if you will."

Her heart soared as she plowed into him and threw her arms around his neck, his hands gripping her outer thighs as he gingerly lifted her up and allowed her to wrap her legs around his waist, her lips raining tiny kisses over his face. "Can we stay here? I...I mean now. Just for-"

"We can." He gave her a more compact identification card from the back pocket of his jeans, inclining his head toward the door. "Go let yourself in. Be there in just a bit."

He punched in a number on the holographic screen of his micro and waited.

"Are you two okay? I thought you'd come rolling in over an hour ago. You didn't by some chance have a near fatal run-in with someone from my hometown, did you? Those portals just aren't what they used to be. Giles left a few messages, and-"

"Try a warlock," Spike filled him in. "Got a place to crash 'til daylight, but Harris mentioned something about a morning meet at the bar. Might make another stop before I get there. Try and keep 'em busy for awhile if they arrive early. If Lockley decides to show up- which in all honestly would really give her a set, feed her the skinny on Adlam."

"There's not much that's okay over there," Lorne catechized. "Is there, champ?"

"Guess we'll find out soon enough, won't we?"


	23. Chapter 23: In Over Your Head

Chapter Twenty-Three: In Over Your Head

_December 19th_

12:44 AM

"Can't sleep?"

Spike Pratt shifted his stance only slightly, his back to her while his left hand contemplated and cradled a snifter of brandy, its contents suddenly seeming far less appealing and oddly pointless. The internal debate waging war inside his head eventually came to a close when he winced and gradually helped himself to a small sip of it, quietly shaking his head in response. His blues were raptly engrossed in the tranquility of the lake just beyond the wooden railing of the second floor balcony, his lean frame lazily propped up against it, the fingers of his right hand flexing themselves in and out of a loose fist. The soft breeze was a welcome change as it flitted across his countenance, the sleeves of his red button down rolled up to his elbows, his white t-shirt stained with some of Rack's blood. The laces to his boots were sloppily untied and were essentially just an accident waiting to happen. "No."

"You're thinking about how you're gonna tell Giles, aren't you?"

Spike smiled a bit painfully, as he raised the glass to his lips again. "Tell Giles what? That your mum is still alive and kickin' or that I'm completely buggered?"

"Granted, A's probably a lot better than B," she murmured. "But we can't just be ready to go and-"

"Give up?" he quickly cut her off. "Never was in the business of it myself, love. In point of fact, that's more or less _your_ specialty."

"Okay, I'll let that one slide because I think you're just a little bit drunk right now. But being drunk also doesn't excuse you from being an idiot."

"Thanks, Summers. Always the itty bitty spitfire, you are."

"You know, this is a really nice place," Buffy tried hopefully, her bare feet edging a fraction closer in his direction, struggling to gauge his reaction. "I mean your apartment was good, too, but this is just so much better. It's more lived in and more...you. I like it."

"Well, who in the bloody hell would I be if I weren't me?" he countered.

"Yep, definitely somewhat drunk and probably bordering on incoherent," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "Just how many of those have you had, anyway?"

"Lost count after the first few, but the night's young. Come to think of it, though, I thought you'd be all tucked away and dreamin' of sodding sheep by now. Bed not comfy enough for you?"

"It's fine."

"What, pray tell, is the problem then?" He slowly turned toward her, and for the first time she noticed the sadness and desperation plaguing his world weary expression, his cerulean gaze watching her every bit as intently as she watched him. It was making her nervous, to say the least, and she didn't appreciate being scrutinized like she'd been living under a microscope all her life- let alone by a vampire with a list of past indiscretions that could fill a book.

Buffy swallowed and tried to make sense of the situation as best she could, anticipating that she was already in for a very rude awakening, especially when taking into consideration the predicament she'd so easy put herself in. "I need the drink, Spike."

"Liquor cabinet's right behind you, pet. Feel free to help yourself."

"That's not...I'm talking about the drink in your hand," she advised. "Just let me have it, okay?"

"Or what? You'll beat me up with your slayer powers and take it from me? I'd like to see you bleeding try."

"Okay, one, you're a dope. A drunk dope, but a dope nonetheless. And two? I'm not gonna fight you. All I want is your stupid glass. You keep this up and you'll hurt yourself. Oh, and did I mention the killer hangover you'll have in the morning?"

"Comes with the territory, doesn't it?"

"What does?" she returned impatiently.

"I've already hurt myself. Hurt myself 'cuz I didn't want him to hurt you. Fat lot of good that did me, right? Not saying it's your fault, of course, but I keep askin' myself why. It's always been about the why of it."

"I don't understand."

"Oh, I think you do. Bit more than you'd like, I'd wager, but you do," he leered, reveling just a tad in her distress. "Oh, and by the by, it takes a lot more than this to get me completely pissed. Vampires are a great deal more tolerant than your average Joe."

Buffy's spine went rigid as she tensed, not quite sure whether or not to buy it. She could always deal with the guards when they'd gone off and gotten themselves wasted, because she was used to their preferences and the ways they liked to be pleased. If she would have ratted them out about consuming alcohol while they were on duty, they would've been twice as rough with her. She hadn't wanted that, so she'd taught herself to adapt to their every request and desire, allowing them to take what they wanted so she wouldn't be too sore between her legs when they'd let up and finish. But the man in front of her was different. He was possibly on the verge of losing a part of himself, and even now, he'd continued to put her interests first. He made sure she had a roof over her head, food to eat, and had introduced her to a world she hadn't even contemplated existed before she was forced into a cell as a prisoner against her will. Taking in the full extent of his inebriated state, she dared to wonder if he was finally starting to regret his actions as of late.

"All right, we'll talk about the why," she decided. "I mean that's what you want, isn't it? God knows I'm game, so here's one you can try on for size. _Why_ do you always have this miraculous ability to turn into a total bastard when I'm just trying to have a reasonable discussion like a mature adult? And I am, you know. Mature? I had to wake up and be mature because I didn't have a choice."

"Buffy-"

"No! You're the one who found me, remember? You. I just sat in captivity for seven years like a good little girl who apparently excelled at doing her civic duty. They'd rate me on a scale of one to ten sometimes, too. Did I ever tell you that? Bobby used to call them performance reviews. They'd keep a chart and everything. If you fell below an eight, they'd push you until you got it right. After awhile, I wasn't really a stranger to limping."

Spike didn't think anything could sober him out of the vague haze that surrounded his noggin so quickly. His sapphire eyes filled with shame, and he carefully set the snifter down on the ground before he began walking toward her, his arms tentatively outstretched in what appeared to be a gesture of apology. One that she'd obviously neglected to take if the expression on her pretty face was any indication. "Love..."

She vehemently struck out when his fingers enclosed themselves over both of her wrists and drew her forward into his chest, struggling madly as she fought to free herself, her hands smacking him and doing what she could to push and drive him back. She yanked herself loose just long enough to jam her knuckles into his right cheekbone, watching him grimace somewhat from the pack of her punch, immediately reclaiming his grip on her as he switched their positions and slammed her into the wall.

"Don't," she whispered, her green eyes full of the fire she'd been missing.

He refused to heed her warning- which in all honestly, wasn't actually a warning at all, and tenderly moved in to cup her cheeks as he instead tried to steady and ground her. Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath, and he hesitantly leaned his forehead into hers, closing his lids to savor what control he still possessed. "I'm a right git sometimes. I know it. Don't always say the right thing, and it'd be easy to chalk that up to the monster I was before we met. But I've got no excuses now, do I? Save for Rupert's constant prattling, it doesn't change the way you seem to stick in my gut and burn my sodding throat 'til I'm drowning."

His teeth lightly tugged on her bottom lip as he gently coaxed her mouth open, capturing it in a torturously slow kiss while his nimble fingers wandered beneath the fabric of the thin white tank she wore to lovingly caress the bare skin of her stomach. Buffy shivered when she felt him climb a bit higher, delicately weighing one naked breast in the palm of his hand before giving it a soft, experimental squeeze. She broke the kiss and buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, biting back a moan. Releasing his hold on her, Spike pulled back and tipped her chin up to look at him, his unresponsive heart swelling at the sight of the fresh tears in her eyes, swearing that it almost skipped a beat.

He only smiled and scooped her up into his arms, saying nothing as he walked to the end of the hallway and entered through the master suite, setting her down at the foot of the king size bed. The cotton sheets were a combination of grays, silvers, and blacks, and they somehow suited him, the large throw rug that covered the spotless hardwood a plush cream. The matching set of dark curtains that adorned the tall windows let in the faintest scrap of moonlight that glittered above the lake, the wind blithely fluttering them as they bathed and illuminated the room in an incandescent glow.

Saying nothing, he knelt before her on his knees and raised her arms above her head, removing her tank top and tossing it behind him, leaving the upper half of her body entirely bare to his unwavering gaze. Her emerald eyes widened and she quickly reached up to shield herself out of habit, positioning her hands firmly across her chest, letting it accidentally slip from her memory that he'd already gotten more than just a peek in the bathroom at Caritas.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating low in his throat, as his hands came up to rest on hers, gently prying them away. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of, Slayer."

"And _you_ don't have to be nice," she admonished, trying to joke despite the attempt falling rather flat. "I know they're small, Spike."

"Not small. Bloody stunning," he corrected. Resting his palms across her jean clad thighs, he leaned in and subtly took a nipple into his mouth, graciously suckling it and feeling her shift her weight as she dropped down onto her elbows and threw her head back, gritting her teeth while her fingers clumsily sought purchase in the sheets.

"What about the others?" she ground out, very nearly torn when he abandoned her breast to study her curiously with those gorgeous blue eyes again.

A frown tarnished his guise and he dubiously knitted his brow, shaking his head in what she presumed was confusion, as it was becoming painfully obvious he wasn't quite comprehending her. "Others?"

"The other women. Didn't you- I mean they were probably..." she trailed off then, not quite knowing how to come out with it and suddenly embarrassed at being way too exposed.

"Ever the stubborn one, aren't you?" Spike demanded, yet his tone was anything but harsh.

"It's just...they must've been better at it."

"Better at what? Throwin' themselves at me and begging for it? Never was a turn on," he admitted, sotto voce. "So if by better you're insinuating they could in any way hold a candle to you, much less a shrine, that's where you're wrong."

"You're not just-"

"I'm not. Wouldn't do that. It was still just sex and sod all else."

"I always sat there and took it. It was never about getting into the moment. There wasn't any-"

"Pleasure involved?" he finished for her.

"Yeah."

He only nodded. "Lay back, Buffy."

"What?"

"Do you trust me?"

"I can't believe you're still gonna ask me that after you-"

"Right then," he muttered. "Look, it's a simple question, and under normal circumstances I'd anticipate a simple answer. Yes or no. Do you trust me?"

"I do," she professed so weakly he almost didn't hear her.

"Then lay back," he instructed again.

Hesitating only briefly, she lowered her head to rest against the sheets, and was unprepared when he pushed her up just a tad and properly secured each of her fingers along the gold rungs of the headboard, urging her to keep them there. Her mind was so focused on the task that she just barely registered him circumspectly unbuttoning and peeling off her jeans, revealing the thin scrap of pink underwear she wore underneath. Buffy held her breath when he started to slide the satin material from her hips, leaving her as vulnerable as she'd been in the tub with him, every inch of her divested.

She gasped when he brought both of her legs up and deftly spread her open to him, gingerly easing a clever finger into her wet folds, her body arching off the bed as her knuckles turned deathly pale around the brass bars she just barely managed to cling to. Spike set a leisurely pace as he continued to stroke her, amazed at how tight she was as he worked to stretch and ultimately prepare her, smoothly adding in a second digit. Delighting in the small mewling sounds that fell from her lips, he ignored his own pressing needs for the moment and focused solely on tending to hers, determined to show her that it wasn't all about the pain and intimidation. It was, however, all she'd ever known, and it very nearly destroyed him that she'd gone so long without this, let alone associated it with anything other than the innocence those men had taken from her without regard for the consequences.

Buffy let out a whimper of protest when he receded from her warmth, but it was short-lived when he hooked her legs over his shoulders and brought her closer to his mouth, his tongue finding her clit and heedfully tending to it, prompting her to cry out so loud that she was grateful they were still a few miles from civilization. She trembled and her breathing became more pronounced, her legs convulsing in the midst of riding out the rapidly building orgasm. He strongly suspected it was a first for her, as there was no doubt in his mind that she'd faked her way through anything even resembling one in prison, refusing to provide the wankers who'd sullied her with the satisfaction. But this was real. She was real. And she was allowing him this piece of her that hadn't been completely corrupted by a legal system that had failed her in every way possible. He rejoiced that she still had that much faith left in herself when he'd regularly been on the verge of losing his.

"Wow," she mumbled, still a bit disoriented, but very much content.

"That all?" he requisitioned teasingly.

"You...what did you do to me?"

He just laughed, as he lightly tickled the bottom of one of her feet, a happily sated grin befalling her as she giggled. "Know I should probably give you a fair bit of time to process that, but we're not exactly through yet."

"Ah, so there's more."

"Lots more," he assured her.

"How can we do 'lots more' if you're wearing all your clothes?"

Spike merely winked. "Depends on what it is now, doesn't it?"

"Oh please. You just said-"

"I did, but I'm also in the business of being a gentleman."

"You're asking if you can...I..." It wasn't long before tears sparkled in her eyes again, nonplussed as she swiped at them using her forearm, her nose sniffling while she stared at him in utter awe, not quite believing what she was hearing. "You want my permission."

"Yeah, I am and I do, 'cuz it's only right that my lady gets to state her case. Won't make you do anything you're not altogether comf-"

He never got to finish. Buffy boldly reached up and fused her lips to his, pulling him against her as she frantically dragged his red shirt from his shoulders, tugging the white t-shirt he wore beneath it up and over him and pausing just long enough to properly revel in the beauty of his bare chest. Her tiny hands went about poking and prodding and exploring every sinewy muscle, worshipping him as he'd worshipped her, trailing downward until she happened upon the zipper to his jeans. Bit by painstaking bit she withdrew them from his rangy build, noting with some satisfaction that his desire to go commando played greatly to her advantage, giving her a surprisingly delectable view. She'd never been awarded the privilege of taking charge prior to this, and had never actually been motivated enough to want to. What was done to her within the privacy of her own cell or the public venue where she'd showered was a crude and unimaginable form of punishment, and she hadn't wished it on anyone.

But he'd gone and he'd made it all about her.

Raising himself up, Spike poised himself at her entrance, seeking her acceptance and stilling his movements. She never dithered, gingerly tracing the outline of the raw bruise she'd put on his cheekbone and bestowing it with a soft kiss, trying to compensate for her error in taking out her anger on him. Buffy pulled his mouth down to hers once more, and her eyes brazenly locked with his, gasping sharply when he entered her. It was as if she were being split in two. She flinched slightly as she began to adjust herself to accommodate his size, ruefully turning away from him to run her fingers through his hair when he gained momentum and began to cautiously ease her into an agonizingly slow rhythm.

"Slayer. _Summers_. You here with me?" It was the way he said her name that did her in. She felt the rough pad of his thumb and index finger adamantly clasp her chin, and with some uncertainty still haunting her, silently complied with his request, her green eyes joining two vivid pools of blue. She savored his long, languid thrusts while he pumped in and out of her, whispering words of comfort and praise, her hips grinding against his.

"I'm here," she whispered.

"Are you?" he reiterated, progressively shifting himself upright into a sitting position and bringing her with him onto his lap, allowing him to drive deeper and hit her at an entirely different angle, her breasts flat against his chest. Buffy anchored herself by wrapping her legs around him and holding on for dear life as he began to increase the pressure, one of his hands coming up to cup the back of her neck, while the other splayed itself across the small of her back. She met him beat for beat, thrust for thrust, never so consumed by her endurance. Had she been anything other than the demon fighting appellation she'd recently been bestowed with, she had her doubts she would've lasted this long. As it stood, they seemed to be a perfect match of both willpower and resilience- which, if the latter was turning into a foregone conclusion, he was beyond gifted.

"Oh God. That's..."

"Like that, do you?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Harder."

"Buffy."

"It's all right, Spike, I can take it."

"You're close, aren't you?"

She smiled, a sheen of sweat covering her forehead. "I always thought vampires didn't have to guess."

"Minx."

"Really? That's the best you've got?"

"For your information, I was just being polite," he insisted as he spoke against her mouth, running his tongue along the length of her bottom lip, and dutifully rewarding her with one of his irresistible trademark smirks. As promised, he elevated the tempo, pounding into her with so much force the bed hit the wall in front of them. He muffled her cries as he lured her into another kiss, drawing her closer to completion, releasing the hand on her back to place an agile finger against her clit as he implored her to follow him. Her hips bucked wildly against him as she climaxed, her muscles clenching tightly around him, both of them finding their release in consecutive measure as he spilled his cold seed inside of her.

Not wanting to part with her just yet, Spike kept them joined together, watching her so intently she thought her heart would stop. The sound of it hammering ferociously in her ears was the only thing maintaining her lucidity at the moment. She tried and failed to speak, the ability to utter a single word, much less a full sentence, had evidently escaped her, very nearly causing her to erupt into another fit of giggles.

Sensing her giddiness, he gave her butt a quick pinch, nipping impishly at the tip of her nose. "Not exactly what a man wants to hear after he's just had the most glorious shag of his undead life, Goldilocks."

She felt him harden inside her, and her eyes widened in surprise, her mouth hanging open. "Oh no. Please don't tell me you're ready to go again, because I'm still so totally all about the basking in a state of ow from whatever it is that you're calling that. If you were smart, you'd let me continue with the basking."

"Don't underestimate yourself. That was bloody fantastic. _We_ were bloody fantastic," he added.

"Really? Because from where I'm sitting, you clearly did most of the work."

He'd expected some sort of repercussion, but he hadn't expected this. The bird had to be joking. And if she wasn't... "You don't get it, do you? You don't see."

"Spike, look, it was fun, but-"

"So help me, if you dismiss what we had as a bleeding way to get you off with no strings attached, you'll be lucky if all you do is walk funny in the morning."

"Hey, I'm up for setting a personal best here, but I'm not-"

"You _felt_ something," he demanded. "I know you did, 'cuz I felt it, too. You just gave yourself to me without reservation and there wasn't a part of you that didn't want it. You can tell me it was a mistake and you can make excuses 'til the roof caves in, but that wasn't nothing. It was _something_."

"It was," she agreed fairly nonchalantly. "To you."

"Why are you doing this? I practically bared my soul to you, you obstinate chit. It's-"

"Like I said, fun."

Grimacing, he pulled out of her, stepping off the bed and hastily retrieving his jeans from the floor. He angrily drew them over his hips and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand, his feet treading out over the carpet and into the unlit hallway, brutally slamming the door shut in his wake.

"Where are you going?" she shouted.

"Need a smoke," came the clipped reply. "Might be best for both of us if you grab you clothes and get out. Guest room's the next one over, but you already know that."

Buffy sat there dumbfounded, not fully conscious of what she'd just done. It certainly hadn't been her first intention to cheapen what they'd openly shared between them, and now she was literally faced with the daunting prospect of becoming a walking contradiction when the truth of what she'd wanted to say and what actually came out of her mouth couldn't be more dissimilar. But she just didn't know how to act when it was over. Usually she'd go about dressing herself in silence and wait for whatever guard who'd just finished with her to leave and go about his business. It had taken Spike storming out and abandoning her, _because_ of her, to confront head on what her problem really was- crux and all.

Frantically scrambling and making a bid for her clothes, she sincerely hoped there was still a chance she could fix it. She very nearly tumbled down the stairwell as she searched for him, convinced that stairs and her were just plain old unmixy things. The screen door to the other entrance was just slightly ajar, and the glow from his cigarette was a beacon in the cool night air, dangling loosely from the fingers of his left hand. Her palm enclosed itself over the handle, and she readied herself just a tad before taking a deep breath and walking towards him.

"Spike."

"So she's come to finish me off," he concluded, noticeably amused. Like the balcony, his back was to her once more- only this time it was as bare as his feet, his pants hanging loose on his hips. "Well, you can save it, Slayer. You've already said your peace. Sure as hell don't need to hear it again. Bit of a blow to my ego, I'm sure you understand."

"No, that's not...it's not why I'm here."

"Is that right? Well, enlighten me then, 'cuz I'm currently out of ways you can cut me down without even tryin'."

"I wasn't cutting you down, I was-"

"Making a mockery of what we had was plenty proof of that. Best you don't try and deny it. The verdict's out and it's just not in my blooming favor. Honestly, though, I've had worse. The bint I was seeing before Harm almost set my hair on fire 'cuz she was under the impression we meant something to each other and I, much to her dismay, reverently disagreed. Had ourselves a minor spat after that. She didn't like the black and white of it. So it's not as if I haven't been here before, you know. Thing of it was, I'd already outgrown that whole burst into flames phase, anyway, as it was probably already over before it even began. Bit like the two of us, actually. "

"Is that what you want?"

"What I don't want is a fairytale. My girl doesn't have to be perfect. I'd take her, flaws and all. Thought it would've been drilled into that thick skull of hers when I met her. But apparently none of that matters anymore, does it?"

"Looks like you've made up your mind then."

"And therein lies the rub, sweet bit." Spike stabbed out his cigarette upon the surface of the wooden picnic table at his disposal, reminding himself that he needed to spring for an ashtray since taking up the annoyingly addictive habit again. "You're so bloody quick to assume everything that you let it get in the way of your enjoyment."

"Well, you always seem to know me more intimately than I know myself," she quipped.

"After tonight, I'd say that's accurate. But it's all what you make it."

"I was scared," she confessed then, only half realizing she'd said it aloud.

"Of what?" he demanded, those hypnotic eyes of his trained on her as he pressed her for an explanation, professing a slight chuckle that told her he was hardly listening, yet attentive to her plight all the same.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I think I might be falling in love with you and I can't stop it or make sense of why I'm doing it, or even why it had to be now when I wasn't even looking for it," she rushed forth with all at once, her candid admission a somewhat jumbled mess barely managing to tip the scales and get lost in translation.

To say he was floored would have been putting it rather mildly. "You think..."

"I'm in love with you. Yeah, okay, way to go Buffy. It's...I know how totally lame it sounds considering we don't even really play nice the majority of the time. But I also get that it's not exactly a doable thing for you, either- especially if your history is anything to go by. I'm not sure I even know what real love is, and if on the off chance that it _is_ with you, I just wanted to thank you. That's enough sometimes, right?"

"Buffy, no."

She solemnly nodded. "So it's true. I was convenient then. All right, I figured as much. We'll just bypass this as a fluke and forget any of it ever happened, okay? Shouldn't be too hard, considering, and I really appreciate you not stooping real low and being a total jackass about it. It was more for my benefit than yours, I seriously get that. I'm another page in Spike's little black book." She sighed and continued to press on, barely managing to conceal her disappointment. "In spite of our...many misunderstandings here today, I've been grateful for all of your help with my case. You've been very generous to me and you didn't have to be. I mean just once I'd like to think I was anything other than someone else's plaything, and you were surprisingly good about it afterwards. Normally they get their digs in and just go."

"They really bollixed you up beyond the telling of it, didn't they?"

"They? They who? There's a 'they' involved here?"

"Jail," he affirmed. "Don't see how it'd be anything other than that Godforsaken crap establishment anyhow."

"So how was I? On a scale of one to ten?"

He was now positively livid, reeling from the fact that she had the nerve to equate what they'd just done with sex that was not the least bit consensual and was in effect repeated counts of rape. "Wasn't aware this was a competition. I just had what could in all likelihood very well be the best night of my life, and you're reducing it to a bleeding one night stand 'cuz it takes you to your happy place. Makes you feel safe, protected. Well, take it from me, it wasn't. It was more. So much more that you're still occupying my every thought since we did it, and I'd go so far as to say I keep askin' myself how soon we can do it again. If that isn't love, pet, I don't know what is. I respect you for your fortitude and tenacity, but I stayed 'cuz of your heart. I still adore the way you look at me when I make you blush, and I find myself relishing whatever insane theories we can bounce off each other- nudity notwithstanding, of course. In a nutshell, you may as well be my sodding other half. You've made me believe I can have something this wonderful, despite what I am and what I've done. If there was ever a time I felt I was losin' my soul, you just gave it back to me. You make me feel, and what we did in that room together was nothing short of brilliant. You're brave and you're resourceful, and buggering hell, Buffy, you make me try. I mean I'm not exactly known for my rousing speeches to rally the troops, 'cuz I used to believe I was as closed off and incapable of it as you are, but I'd go ahead and stake my unlife on it that this qualifies as a fairly decent attempt in the grand scheme of things."

"Looks like I'm in your top five," she drawled wearily. "Compliment received. But I'm really beat right now, so I'm just gonna head on up to the guest room and try to get some sleep. Does that work for you?"

"Yeah," he conceded sadly, reaching for the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his jeans. "I'll just...right then."

"Boy, you can really be a dork sometimes, you know that?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"I was kidding, Spike." Standing on her tiptoes, she walked up to him and threw her arms around his neck, giving him a warm hug. "Besides, I'd be an even bigger dork than you are if I walked away from this. You tried to show me that, and I just...you know, that speech was actually really good. Better than good. Great, even. Lots of points for greatness. I didn't- hey!"

His forearm cradling her legs and a strong hand draped across her back, he'd picked her up into his arms for the second time that night, inviting her lips into a heated kiss. "Seeing as you won't be leavin' my bed again 'til I'm good and through with you, you should probably gather your strength before we get there."

"Sounds exciting."

"Don't think I'll ever get tired of you, Summers, and if it's any consolation, you almost made me grovel. A master vampire never grovels. We're all thick-skinned and dangerous."

"Well, I'll give you the last one," she amended. "But as far as thick-skinned, you might have to brush up on making with the whole insensitivity gig."

"Bollocks. I'm as tough as they come."

"Show me."

He growled, his blunt teeth nipping at her neck as she squealed, bringing her back inside the cottage and shutting the door behind them.


	24. Chapter 24: Pride Comes Before a Fall

Chapter Twenty-Four: Pride Comes Before a Fall

7:06 AM

Buffy Summers felt the persistent rays of sunlight caressing her bare skin before she saw them, her green eyes straining against the blindingly penetrating glare. She very briefly contemplated the thought of lifting herself up out of bed to draw the curtains closed, but the strong arm draped protectively across her waist was conveniently preventing her from doing so, thereby cementing the apparently uncontested vote in stone. In short, she just couldn't be bothered enough to care at the moment. Her lips curled into the smallest of smiles as she suddenly remembered where she was and who she was with, carefully shifting and angling her body to the side so she was facing the man who shared the space with her. She hesitantly reached out to run a fingertip across an impossibly long eyelash, ghosting smoothly over the expanse of a sharp cheekbone and into his ornately carved jawline, never having actually been awarded the special privilege before. She was essentially the equivalent of a giddy little kid in a candy store. lt was a wonderful surprise to catch him in such rare form when he was so completely vulnerable and without worry, temporarily letting down his guard.

He was as beautiful in the daylight as he was at night, his curly, bleached blonde locks in wild tangles atop his head, the hand that wasn't wrapped around her spread out above him and flattened into the pillow. She let the sheet fall to her waist as she leaned in and took his bottom lip between her teeth, professing an entirely girlish squeal when he abruptly pulled her on top of him, the feel of his cock grazing her folds as he touched his mouth to hers and used his tongue to deepen the kiss. Forgetting to take his rather obvious response to her into consideration, she began to unconsciously rock herself against him, jumping back slightly when he uttered a loud groan. "Bloody hell, woman. You keep doing that and I'll be tempted to shag you into next Tuesday."

"Oops," she muttered halfheartedly, giggling in spite of his discomfort.

"Oops, is it?" He gripped her thighs and gave her a playful squeeze, traveling a bit higher to run the pads of his thumbs lovingly over her hip bones as she rose up and looked down at him, her face unadorned with the added frills of makeup, and her long, golden hair more disheveled than his as it trailed down her back. She was a living goddess.

She was _his_ living goddess.

"You seem awfully pleased with yourself this morning, Slayer."

"Yeah?" she echoed, her eyes rolling back in her head when he altered his position just a smidge.

"Take that to mean you're up for tryin' something new."

"Well, somebody's obviously up," she drawled, directing her gaze downward. "Very much of the up, in fact."

"Wouldn't complain in the least if you wanted to remedy that."

Her green eyes were now as wide as saucers despite the fact that this wasn't exactly new to her. Although, given the four hours they'd spent with each other last night before her limbs and other parts began to fail her, this oddly hadn't been something they'd tried. "As in...ride you?"

"That's the idea," he added, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Well, it's just that...I...if you..." She trailed off, suddenly at a complete loss for words, her line of vision choosing to focus on the cream colored rug she pretended to study quite intricately. "Wow, okay, maybe I should try that again."

"Buffy." He went and drew himself upright before he remembered how she was seated, deviating only a fraction of an inch but still unintentionally burying himself inside of her, her cry indicating she was still a bit tender from their activities the night before. "Sorry, love, didn't mean to- Buffy, look at me."

She found that request a lot easier to comply with these days, and bravely allowed herself to meet his blues head on, her expression difficult to discern.

"Won't do anything to hurt you, you know that. You're in complete control. It's your show, pet."

"If you finish that up by saying you're just along for the ride, I might just have to hurt you."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "There's my girl."

"It's just...you won't push about the other stuff, will you?"

"Other stuff?" Spike repeated, mulling it over as confusion set in. "Exactly what _kind_ of stuff are we talking about here?"

"Back door stuff," she explained. "The...I used to bend over and they'd just put it in. I wasn't even aware of just how many variations there were until they forced me to basically do all of them at some point. One required that I kneel down and put my face to the ground, and he'd...well, he told me it was so he didn't have to see me when he was getting himself off. I know some girls like it that way, but I mostly just found it to be awkward. Half the time I wasn't even ready and I couldn't...it felt a little invasive. Well, more so than usual, at any rate."

"This is about you," he reiterated. "Whatever you're not- it's strictly up to you. It's _all_ about you, pigeon. 'Sides, if you sodding don't mind it, I very much prefer the term making love. Always considered sex to be somewhat on the informal side of things. It's not to say it doesn't have its perks, but I more or less associate it with the-"

"Skanky women you used to bring to your apartment?"

"Right," the vampire acknowledged, sincerely contemplating whether or not his offer was no better than the orders that wanker group of guards had given her in prison, never quite ridding himself of the ache inside him whenever he let his mind wander there.

"This is nice, though."

"It is," he whispered rather hoarsely, his hands cradling her waist. "But you'll need to start doing something soon, or I'll be a tad uncomfortable."

"Oops again. My bad." She nimbly slid out of him and settled back into the spot she'd initially woken up in, her fingers playing with a loose thread on the sheets, her green eyes continuing to watch him. "If it came down to magic with Adlam, would I stand a chance without the coven?"

He tilted his head as he regarded her with a fair amount of disbelief. "Where in the bleeding hell did that come from?"

"They had to give you a boost to fight that stupid warlock," she pointed out. "But being a vamp, you may have gotten the jump on him without the added help. I'm only a slayer, and a rookie one at that."

"Well, there are spells that could work with a combined group effort, too. While you were busy being all peaceful and knackered like after our little marathon last night, I took the liberty of ringing up that witch I told you about. Asked Calendar to get me a number. She came through on that front a lot faster than I thought she would. Left the chit a message and gave her this address. Figure she can shed some new perspective on a few of our problems."

"Hmm," she murmured. "Doesn't that almost go against what you told me about not bringing other women here?"

"It would if you think she's anything resemblin' a threat," he remarked offhandedly, "which is hardly the case."

"And what about Lorne's? Do we just take everything and move it here? You said something before about making up a training room. I think maybe we should start with that."

"Eager to start throwin' some stakes at me, are you?"

"Nah, I think I'd like to try for the crossbow or some swords first."

"Just mind the holy water."

"That stuff actually works?"

"Hurts like hell, as do crosses."

"So while you won't burn up in the daylight, you still have to worry about flying wooden crosses."

"Yeah, flying crosses," he reiterated, rolling his eyes. " 'Cuz that's just what people do with 'em when they find one."

"If someone wanted to impale you, they could. They'd just toss it at you and...whoosh! Straight through the heart. Unless it's plastic or made of metal. Then you'd probably just have to pull it out. That'd be totally weird if you didn't heal and the hole stayed right there in your chest. Guess that's why they call them gaping chest wounds."

He laughed, his entire face lighting up. "Do you actually lie awake thinkin' about all this rot or does it just come naturally?"

"Little bit of both," she countered matter of factly.

"Slayers must have quite the active imagination."

"Oh, trust me, mister, that imagination part still belongs to you. Especially after last night. I think you might even consider adding inventive to the list, too."

"Thanks for the memo."

"Hey, is it true there's more advanced holo footage for gaming now?"

"Rumor has it." His interest had piqued yet again and he fixed her with a curious glance at the mention. "S'pose that was more or less all the rage in prison?"

"First of all," Buffy disputed, "nobody uses 'all the rage' anymore. When you do, you're basically showing your age. And for the record, yes. I've heard they have these maze things where you can navigate an obstacle course and rack up points. They never let me play, but some of the other girls claimed they got to do it on good behavior. I didn't make the cut with that, but what if we mapped out our own and had holo vamps and demons popping out around every corner or something? I could pick a weapon of choice to fight them with and see if I win."

"I could talk to Andrew, see if he could set it up and copy it for us. It's possible he'll question the whole vampire theme, but we can work around that."

"We'll just tell him it's for a private party."

"A private party."

"A private vampire party?" she suggested. "I bet they had them all the time before the ban. You'd fit right in."

"Thanks ever so," Spike muttered dryly. "But we also have to consider something just above the basic level. If you breeze through all the vamps, you move up to the next one and do battle with a poncy magician type or what have you. We could study the spells and interact with 'em. Implement 'em into the game."

"Looks like we finally came up with a plan," she stated excitedly, clapping her hands together. "And it's a good plan."

"Shouldn't be too hasty, love. We'll have to see if it works first. But if Andrew's more than willing, we'll let him have at it. I wager all bloodsuckers will resemble sodding Dracula and he goes the blooming Harry Potter route with the magicks. Won't even contemplate the demon part of it."

"Harry Potter was actually pretty big way back in the day," Buffy informed him. "Of course, nothing beats a guy who enjoys watching the old whodunit shows, does it? Jessica Fletcher anyone? _Columbo_?"

"Bugger it."

"Aw, that's so cute. Ladies and gentleman, I think he's blushing."

"Am not," he replied rather indignantly, his arms banding themselves across his bare, well-muscled chest. "Vampires don't blush. Physically incapable of it."

"You so are!" she insisted, learning forward to gently peck his lips. She found herself caught off balance when he put his reflexes to good use and grabbed her, dropping her gently onto her back, the only sound emanating from her akin to a high-pitched yelp. He mercilessly proceeded to tickle her sides senseless before shifting his attention to the bottom of her feet, taking great enjoyment in the way her eyes closed and her mouth fell open in another fit of laughter.

"I give, I give!" she choked out helplessly.

"Damn right you do," he teased, gifting her with a sly smirk. "Won't have you mocking my love for the classics, pet. Television was once a happy medium compared to the drivel it is today."

Struggling to catch her breath, she reached over and pushed a loose curl off of his forehead. "Don't you ever get tired of it?"

He only shook his head. "Not sure what you mean."

"All of it," she explained. "Finding new things to do, keeping life from getting too boring. Is that why you decided to become a cop? You've probably seen a lot over the last hundred plus, right? Nothing really fazes you anymore. It must be hard to try and top it."

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't exactly warrant a life of utter despair now, does it?"

"What about me?"

"Feel like I've missed something here."

"I'm not just a passing fad, am I? You say you're in it for the long haul, and you also told me I couldn't get rid of you that easily and that you'll always be here. But for how long? Give it another fifty, and I'll have a thousand wrinkles and you'll still look like you stepped off the cover of a magazine."

"Great. You and Rupert could be mind reading twins."

"It's just, you do remember you're immortal, right?"

"We'll jump onto and over that bridge when we come to it, but don't think for a second I wouldn't want you. Whether it's your penchant to visit the hair salon for a perm every Wednesday to touch up the gray, or being brazen enough to challenge the rest of the biddies in the nursing home to a game of bleeding wheelchair tag. I used to think it wasn't possible, and I'll-"

"Oh, like, say, for example when you told me I'd find someone else and be perfectly happy with them, because I couldn't be happy with you?"

"Thought I'd be holding you back, is all."

"We're good together," she admitted.

"So we are, pet. Wouldn't have said it months ago, but that's-"

The repetitious pounding coming from downstairs had his entire demeanor tensing as he dropped to the floor and reached for his jeans, abruptly yanking them up over his lower half. He opened one of the drawers occupying the single dresser in the room and threw a navy colored t-shirt over his head, motioning for her to remain silent by placing a single finger to his lips. It seemed doubtful their killer would be inclined to knock when he was magically coasting on overdrive, but aside from Lorne, Rupert and the witch he'd contacted, he was unable to think of anyone else who was aware of his second hidey hole, much less where it was. "Wait here," he instructed her.

"Do I ever do anything else?" she hissed, clearly irritated.

"You've gotten real good at glaring," he volunteered freely. "Keep it up."

He only just dodged the pillow she tossed at him as he exited the room and began to make his way down the stairs, vowing to take a bite out of whoever it was if they marred his door with even the slightest fingerprint. Not bothering to take a peek at the tosser that chose the most inconvenient time to disturb him on his own turf, he slid his identification card through the slot and pulled the troublesome contraption open, wondering if he would be imposing on Calendar if he requested an invisibility spell that would cloak the location of his whereabouts in shadow.

What greeted him on the other end, was a very exhausted looking Xander Harris with red-rimmed eyes and unkempt hair, the clothes he wore the same ones Spike had seen him in during the visit they'd paid to Buffy's old residence. His partner seemed to be a much more distraught version of his usual self and Spike was at a complete loss in decoding the reason behind what passed for madness. The other man looked as if he'd just emerged from an angst ridden Shakespearian play and just barely lived through the betrayal to tell about it.

"She never came home last night. I dropped her off, but according to the other tenants, not to mention the security cameras, there's no record of her ever having gone inside. I've been trying to get a hold of her and she's not picking up."

"And by her, you mean..."

"Willow!" he sputtered. "It's Willow. After we got mind warped I drove her home. We were both still a little out of it. I keep thinking that maybe if I'd asked to come up none of this would've happened."

"How'd you find my-"

"It's called hours upon hours of research," he responded. "I've been running on coffee for about as long. Thing is, your supposedly loyal FBI agent's gone missing, too. Shortly after the fire at Willy's. No one's heard from her since- including her lap dogs. It's like she just vanished into thin air. I'm feeling the whole magical shebang here, but even I know how impossible it sounds."

"Maybe Red went back to work for a bit," he offered. "She's known for gettin' sidetracked from time to time. Could've fallen asleep at the library, too. You should call Rupes and check with him."

"She's not with Giles. I talked to him about fifteen minutes ago."

"So, what? You think I've had her here all bleeding night and suddenly forgot to tell you about it?"

"You've forgotten to tell me stuff before," Xander pointed out.

"Bollocks," he mumbled, shaking his head. "I realize you're about two sodding sandwiches short of a pickle here, mate, but why would she come running to yours truly when you were the one playing chauffer? She wouldn't have known Buffy and I were even here."

"Yeah, and I guess Buffy's the first, isn't she?"

"First what, you poofter?"

"The first one in your long line of conquests to see the private bachelor pad. Must be great to be needed when it's just for sex."

The brunette was gasping for air before he knew what hit him. Lapsing into his demon visage, Spike roughly grabbed him around the throat and slammed him into the door, growling as he tightened his grip, just yearning to feel a few bones crack. "Be wise if you took that back and were on your way, whelp."

Despite the overwhelming state of fatigue he was in, Xander visibly froze, his brown eyes full of pure, unsullied fear at the sight. He barely managed to swallow with the fingers still clamped around him, both of his hands clawing at Spike's wrist as he fought to breathe.

Loosening his hold by a narrow margin, the vampire's amber stare bore into the detective's frightened gape, almost as if he were urging him to trump his vastly superior chain of command and give him the satisfaction of denying it. "Where I come from, I wouldn't even need a reason to grind you up into bitty pieces and stir what's left into a glass of blood. Yet you have the nerve to come here and act like you're God's gift to humanity 'cuz you're feeling the need to add hero to your résumé. Word of advice, friend. It hardly suits you."

"He's got her, doesn't he?" he croaked out.

"It's not his style," Spike sided.

"Murderers change their M.O. all the time when they're coming unhinged. I think he's has been forced to improvise under the circumstances. You took his pet warlock away from him and payback's probably a real bitch."

He relinquished his hold and watched Harris bend over, his hands on his knees as he vied for purchase in regaining his composure. "Rack meant little more to him than the pile of excrement he steps in with his goody two shoes. If anything, he'd be overjoyed to find him gone and out of his hair."

"Maybe, but you've just narrowed his playing field. Which, by the way, is understandable if the scary monster you just showed me is looking for a little fun to even out the score."

"Fun?" Spike blanched. "You think I just go out lookin' like that for _fun_? There's actually a time where it all starts to blur just a bit and what was once fun becomes anything but. I can talk big, as we vampires sometimes love to do, but it's like I told you back at the bar. The pull for blood overrules your head and your heart sometimes to the point of no sodding return."

"All right, fine, you're the boss. But like it or not, we may need to think like a killer to get her back. If Adlam is this born again demon guy, you're the only one who can get inside his head. You've already been there yourself."

"I'm convinced our bloke left his sanity behind eons ago. Reasoning with him now wouldn't make a dent in the bigger picture."

"But he wants Buffy, right? I say we bring her to him and have her match him in a battle of wizardry while we stop for pizza and catch the match on cable. I'll bet ratings would skyrocket."

"She's not ready for that yet."

"That's what you said about taking her back to the house. She sure seemed ready to me."

"She wasn't. It's a long story, yeah? Look, get comfy and pull up a chair. We'll suss this out and I'll let Rupert know we're here. We'll use it as a temporary headquarters or some such for the time being."

"Isn't that gonna invade your privacy?"

"If Adlam has Rosenberg, you'll be invading it all you like."

"I just hope she's okay. The weird thing is, I'm about twenty-two percent more sure she'll go out with me this time if I stage a daring rescue operation and prove my worth to her."

"Believe she'd tell you to keep dreamin' there."

"It's just...she's Willow. Defender of all things cute and cuddly and she even names her animal crackers. She's got some pretty intense frog fear in her, too. She also has this habit of wearing overalls to work on Fridays, even though Cordelia keeps telling her that they went out of fashion decades ago."

"She's everything to you," Spike acknowledged, thinking of the girl that still waited for him upstairs.

"She makes me want to kiss the ground I walk on whenever I'm around her."

The ground was damp and cold, and Willow found that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't move her legs. She strained her eyes against the crushing darkness and instinctively sought purchase with her bare hands, her fingers coming into contact with what appeared to be a wall made of brick at her back. The constant throbbing pain in her head felt like someone had hit it repeatedly with a hammer, and as she fought to clear it, it occurred to her that the reason she couldn't feel anything below her waist was that she was entirely numb there. The last thing she remembered before her world had gone black and lost consciousness, was Xander dropping her off home and driving away, his car making a left once he'd approached the intersection just beyond her apartment complex.

It was right after the warlock guy had messed with them at Buffy's old place. The one she'd shared with her mom. But Willow had recovered from that. She'd felt more like herself again after his stupid loopy mind games had worn off. She'd been good.

Struggling to mentally retrace her steps, she found she couldn't even recall taking her usual ride up the elevator to the seventh floor, and it was something she'd practically done blindfolded by now. She'd lived there going on two years and had happened upon the place after she'd spotted an ad for it in the holographic news bulletin at the bus depot. It hadn't taken long for her to scroll through her options to find out it was the best the city could offer. It wasn't in a bad part of town, either, and the thought that she could've been that careless for even a second both frustrated and shook her straight to the core. She'd made it her business to work with corpses for a living and wasn't by any means so easily scared- at least not by the typical standards any medical examiner operated under. Blood and guts were a normal day at work.

But this was apparently something else altogether.

She did her best to shift her weight a bit more to the left, thinking that if she could just propel herself to go a bit further, she might be able to determine more about the origin of her location. She'd always been a curious girl by nature, and that same nature was telling her she couldn't just sit here and wait for everything to be okay, because chances were it was going to be anything but. Judging by the shadows that enveloped her here, she'd come to the conclusion that the room had no windows, let alone anything resembling a door that she could make out in spite of her squinting. But she knew there had to be one somewhere, because she certainly hadn't been tossed in through the ceiling.

The silence was bordering on monotonous.

It was then that she heard the clanking of old fashioned chains as she finally managed to gain a bit of traction in her movements, making any such quest for exploration severely limited. For the most part, and taking into consideration the advancements Los Angeles had made technologically to comply with the ban, electronic shackles were almost always used, pending only the most dire of circumstances. She'd been a fool to think nobody had the other kind stored away for something like this. Of course, not everyone had been caught, she reminded herself. There were still people out there who practiced bad magic and got away with it because nobody was looking for them or had cause to. The more she and Xander had researched about what really went on once the rules had gone into effect, the more it shocked her at just how bred in violence it all was. What the big guys with all the authority thought they were controlling, they weren't really controlling at all.

Buffy had conditioned herself to endure seven years of it, and that was something Willow truly admired about her. The same admiration sometimes made her just a bit shy around the other woman when she tried to gather the courage to talk to her. But underneath it all, she saw a kind of dedication in Buffy that she so often saw in herself. The will to pick yourself up and keep going, no matter what the obstacles were. She needed to listen that advice in a big way right now, and try and get herself out of this.

"Look at the small strawberry maiden wrought with wicked ripe fear," came a heavily accented voice through the blackness, as a woman with dark hair and what looked to be sharp blue eyes emerged and stumbled toward her, a white dress made of silk just barely clinging to her skeletal frame. "You shall have no Prince Charming, my sweet. He doesn't come for you today or any other day."

Willow shrank back, forcefully bringing her numb legs up to her chest and cradling them as best she could despite her restraints. She'd seen that face before, she was sure of it. Something about it stood out as being so utterly familiar to her, but she just couldn't place it. The haunting way the stranger walked was almost dreamlike, her dress trailing haplessly along the dirty floor.

"I asked Daddy if we could have cake today to celebrate your arrival. Miss Edith spoke out of turn again and will have to miss our special party, but she wishes to come by later for a visit. I was going to have streamers and songs. We'll save her a seat, won't we? She'll be most grateful, I'm sure."

"Wh...who are you?"

"Your hair is so soft," came the reply. "Mine used to be that soft. I fear that one day it'll all fall out and I won't have any left. I'm weak, you see. So very weak. But Daddy has promised to restore us all and take William back home. We can be a family again. The bad man is going to make it happen. He's taught himself a lesson."

"Your father?" Willow tried meekly. "Well, that doesn't sound so bad."

"We just have to work with him first," she continued. "Help him deal with the naughty slayer who's been making trouble and causing a stir wherever she goes. She hasn't the slightest idea of what's in store for her."

"You mean Buffy? But she's-"

"She reeks of good," her opponent snapped, "and she's gone and made him angry. He'll never forgive her if he can't kill her."

"Are you talking about Ashford?" She was finding it awfully hard to hold the other woman's attention, and the way she spoke was more like Spike than the refined way Giles did, the inflection almost musical.

"Ashford will make me a princess again."

"That's, uh...well that's really nice of him." If she could just keep calm and more than a little collected, Willow figured she could try for more answers during this interrogation. It didn't have to be entirely one-sided. If what she'd gotten already was any indication, it strongly led her to believe she was probably just bait for whatever big scheme Adlam and his guys had in mind for her. It was strange, though, she reasoned. They'd all come to the conclusion that he'd preferred to work alone without the added benefit of partners in crime. Rack had been disposable despite his powers, and she was curious as to what this woman had that was so important to whoever she referred to as Daddy, not to mention someone like Adlam who'd gone to what appeared to be great lengths to establish and secure the alliance.

"I was naming all the stars last night. Perhaps Daddy will let you out long enough to name a few more with me tonight. We must rid ourselves of summer, you see, as it seeks to corrupt us all."

A short distance away, Willow heard the door she wasn't sure existed being thrown open, a figure clothed in black attire stepping through it, his gait slow but evocative. "How many times have I told you not to nag the prisoners, Dru?"

"I was just trying to be friendly," she said so softly Willow almost didn't hear her.

"Yeah, and I've already said that they're not here for that. This one's part of Ash's plan, which means hands off the merchandise. Fangs, too." As if to illustrate his point, the man slid his thumb over one of them as he shifted into game face to demonstrate. "Although, come to think of it, I don't suppose it'll necessarily hurt if we have a taste to sample the product. Might confirm whether or not he's made himself a decent investment. I mean look at her- she's just so cute! Bet her blood would go down real well. Almost like a fine wine."

Vampires. Both of them. The alarm bells were now going off in Willow's head without signs of ever letting up, and she squeezed her arms tighter around herself, hanging on for dear life. It wasn't long before the bells developed into full blown recognition and she recalled just where she'd seen the mysterious woman in white before. It was in that Watcher's book that she'd given to Giles. The same one she'd found in her office with a sketch of Spike inside, its pages written in Latin. It was supposed to have been some kind of diary or something.

Dru, short for..._Drusilla_. At least that's what she thought she'd been referred to as, which meant the guy that was without an accent but still imposing, could be Angelus. She wasn't exactly on the up and up with the whole vampire loyalty thing, but figured it was assumed that vampires who traveled together for as long as they had, often stayed together for life. Spike was of course the one exception and the piece that didn't seem to fit with the remaining pieces scattered in front of her.

"It's too soon, my pet. We have to play with her for a teensy bit first."

"He finds out, the deal's off."

"So we'll feast in other places first. Start our little party a tad early."

"I'm really liking the sound of that," he said, just before he lunged and Willow screamed.


	25. Chapter 25: Temporarily Deferred

Note: This chapter is along the lines of the format "Interlude" followed and picks up right where chapter 24 left off. I intended on posting it yesterday, but hadn't found the time to proofread. Oh, and special thanks to esmejasper, TheBlueDragonWolf, and Spuffygirl. I've had so much fun writing this fic thus far and it's been just as much fun to be able to share it. :)

Chapter Twenty-Five: Temporarily Deferred

7:52 AM

Willow braced herself for an attack that never came.

Instead, the sound of meticulously calculated footsteps came to a halt beside the male vampire she presumed to be Angelus, the man's striking features projecting disapproval as he calmly shook his head. His blonde hair was long and nearly to his shoulders, his eyes a vivid shade of green but noticeably empty and void of any kind of affability. "Liam, have we or have we not entered into a legally binding agreement?"

"It's an agreement," came the acknowledgement, "but I don't know that it's legally binding, per se. See, and I really mean this, Ash, I do. You're great, honest. A pro. Your reputation basically speaks for itself now. You've come a seriously long way from that pathetic excuse of a youngin' you were back then and you've got my utmost respect. Personally, I'm just glad you came to your senses and finally wised up enough to join our side." He smiled cruelly as he began to circle him. "Remember how you were when I made you watch? When I helped myself to that sweet, innocent thing you doted on like a school boy? She was the best lay I ever had. Didn't even put up a fight when I shoved it inside. But lately you're all talk and no action, buddy. What's up with that? You sit on your ass in that room of yours while this poor thing's in here just wiling away the dull hours hoping one of us puts her the hell out of her misery- not to mention the old chick and the blonde. What a waste, am I right?"

"It's not time yet," he replied simply.

"Then who the hell cares if she gets a few scrapes and bruises before she goes back? What's this slayer gonna do? Add an extra slap to your wrist? She's out of her depth and she knows it. I haven't had something fresh since last night. This one could stand to be roughed up a little."

"Your business is with William," he reminded him. "The slayer is mine."

"_William_," a wistful voice murmured lovingly. "My head is spinning, Angel. He's close, I can feel it."

"Give it a rest, Dru." He rolled his eyes, slightly irritated, before turning his attention back to Ashford. "C'mon, man, live a little. We could reap the benefits here and turn this place into a funhouse. Our own chamber of horrors. By the time they come looking for their friends, they'll be too repulsed to claim the bodies. You want the slayer, I want the rush. It's a fair trade."

"The only fair trade here, Liam, is Miss Rosenberg for the slayer. I'll accept no less."

"Oh, I get it. Granny's still locked up so she can see the show, huh? Well, what about the other one? She's probably as bored out of her mind as the redhead."

Ashford sighed, clearly unimpressed. "You're supposed to be downstairs. They're waiting for you."

"We're running out of blood and they're hungry. They won't train if they're hungry."

"So find them something to eat."

"Well if you hadn't gotten careless and let Rack out to play, we'd still have somebody down there to take care of that, wouldn't we? Butcher shop's closed and the sun's coming up. Seems to me you're getting incompetent in your old age."

"You're no match for me, Liam. Take that tone with me again and you'll regret it. I'll do to you what I should have done to you years ago."

"Oh, you mean before you sold yourself to the big guy downstairs?" Angelus retorted. "You didn't have it in you. You couldn't even save the woman you claimed to love."

"Downstairs," Ashford repeated calmly. "_Now_."

"What about my party?" Drusilla mumbled, her face suddenly filled with worry. "Daddy promised me a party."

"And keep her in check, would you? We don't need any more distractions."

Angelus growled, forcefully yanking the frail woman by the arm as they quickly exited the room, the door slamming shut behind them. The blonde man merely sighed as he crouched down in front of the petite redhead, withdrawing his palms in an apologetic gesture, his green gaze displaying faint traces of what could have only passed for false sincerity. "I was hoping it didn't have to come to this, Miss Rosenberg. But I'm sure you can understand that she's left me no alternative."

Willow couldn't get herself to form a coherent response, unsure of whether or not she was rewarded the right to speak, her mouth trembling slightly.

"It's why I sent it to you, you know. The book? I had to make you see. Who they are, what they've done. You're a smart girl, Willow. Your education is proof of that. But as it stands, my only wish is to appeal to your common sense. I already respect your generosity and your compassion, both of which I no longer possess without the ability to feel. Bad things happen when you decide to feel, don't they? I've resigned myself to accept it was necessary for the change."

"Change?" she whispered.

"Yes," he stated somewhat obliviously as he continued. "The way that half breed cares for her is not permitted. Our laws govern no such practice."

"Drusilla and Angelus."

"_William_," he corrected. "He's a most exceptional case. These old mates of his say he fought for his soul. Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous? Tell me, Miss Rosenberg, who fights that valiantly for something they don't need?"

Without waiting for a response, he went on, mindful of her attentiveness. "He's tasted blood recently, hasn't he? He's sampled that whore. My warlock wasn't nearly as lucky and didn't survive the attack. Too much power without potential. Perhaps it's only a matter of time before William realizes what he was always meant to be." He gently ran a thumb across her brow and over the length of her cheek, smiling almost sadly. "The vampire and I aren't so very different, you know. We've both endeared ourselves to women that seek to destroy. They possess no other pleasure. They're the real monsters, Willow. Not us."

Ashford brought himself to his feet then, clasping his hands behind his back as he began to pace, seemingly preoccupied by his own musings and not altogether aware that he was still addressing her. "I'm unable to abide by it. I failed in my duty seven years ago, but I won't fail again. I didn't have help then- I didn't have what I needed to make it all work. I do now, of course. Once the past was behind me, it was easy to appeal to him. So easy to just forget what I spilled my tears over." He laughed, clapping rather gleefully, as he appeared to be the considering the possibilities. "Those like me can come out of hiding and we'll be free. There'll be no girls left to hunt our kind, no more Watchers left to mold them into heroes. For how can a slayer be a hero if all she wields is despair? If all she brings about is hurt and disgust and tries to make you feel? We're better left to our own devices in the dark, aren't we?"

Willow found the numbness in her legs was beginning to subside and began to busy herself with the prospect of searching for something delicate enough to pick a lock with, her heart still racing a mile a minute in her chest. If she hadn't been stripped of her identification card, she might also be able to force it into the slot near the door and prompt it to accept and supersede the current code. But that would require losing the chains, and the chances were essentially stacked against her there, as she wasn't exactly known for her thieving skills to the community at large. Not when she was employed by a department that only really encouraged it in the most dire of cases- most of which included being out in the field, and of which she had little to no experience with aside from dead bodies. The trip to Buffy's house was proof of that. Stakeout girl, she was not.

"Liam was right all along. It's all about the discipline, Miss Rosenberg. These women are not my equals and they deserve what they get. Every bit of it. They borrow their power from demons and use that strength for what they're told is true and good. How can anything that comes from somewhere so black ever be so good? Those men have twisted the very foundation evil has built itself upon and bestowed it with a savior. But a slayer is no savior. She was chosen and has never earned her keep. A Watcher teaches and trains, but no one ever really prepares _him_, do they?"

"If they come for me, they'll know it's a trap."

"But they'll still come. You mean a great deal to this...Mr. Harris. Am I right?"

"It's actually more in the way of being one-sided," she insisted, her face impassive. "The one side being his side."

"You're lying," he confirmed.

"We're not like that," Willow tried once more. "Honest. We're just making with the whole friend thing now. Really."

"Has it occurred to you that I can see through every inch of the facade you've just given me? He respects you as much as you respect him. I've seen him, the two of you. I know. He'll find you and he'll try to save you. But I've a few surprises of my own. Those I've spent years perfecting. Getting them exactly where I want them. One is the slayer's mum herself. Tough old bird's still hanging in there."

"Joyce is...alive?" The weight on her shoulders was suddenly much heavier, and Willow thought she'd be sick to her stomach as the bile rose steadily in her throat. Her line of vision began to blur and she felt faint, her brain unable to catch up and process what he was telling her. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. There was no way.

"Oh, very much so. At the same time, an incredible shame. Occasionally, one or two of my men will see to it that she's bathed and fed and cared for, which isn't often, I'll grant you. But she's as indomitable as her daughter is. She resents me for not ending her life when I've shown her what's become of the younger Miss Summers in her absenteeism. While I don't doubt that it was quite the shock to learn of Elizabeth's imprisonment, I've treated Joyce very well, considering."

"How can you say that when you look into the eyes of her killer every day, and-"

"You're speaking of poor Clara now," Ashford reasoned, nodding. "If it's any consolation, dear Willow, I believe we've already covered that. Liam is no worse than I am. In point of fact, I may have succeeded him."

"Clara's nothing to you. Whatever she was before, she's nothing."

"This is so much more than Clara. Why can't you see that?"

"She loved you."

"Your friends may be able to get in," he countered, ignoring her, "but I assure you, none of them will get out. Magic won't save them. It won't save _you_. Nothing can penetrate it."

"Does that mean that Jennifer, the...Mr. Hart's wife-"

"The cell right next to Joyce. She's been a tad bit more pleasant in the way of our conversations, mind you, but I really should have killed her the night they found her body. Suffice it to say, I didn't make the same mistake with Miss Kendall."

"You needed Spike out of the way."

"Yes."

"You know him. Not just _of_ him, but on a personal- it's like Angelus and Drusilla, isn't it? He was there, too."

"Let's have no more talk of that, shall we? I'm already running late for inspection. I trust Liam won't disappoint. For what it's worth, Miss Rosenberg, I look forward to introducing you and your friends to my boys. I suspect you'll find them most welcoming. They don't eat quite as often as they should and I'd wager they've worked up quite an appetite again. Won't be much longer, so you needn't fret."

He departed through the same door Angelus and Dru had left out of, and Willow heard the lock snap securely into place, a single tear finding its way down her cheek. It was the same one Ashford had touched only moments ago, and wondered how she'd ever managed to get mixed up in something so terribly awful. She couldn't imagine how Buffy would take it, and a small part of her didn't want to. To know that she'd spent seven years in prison when the crime she'd been convicted of had never taken place was something Willow couldn't even conceive of. To have a funeral with a body that wasn't a body and to have people showing up to grieve for someone who was chained up somewhere just like she was, cut off from civilization and on the verge of going mad. A woman who'd been coping with it since her daughter was seventeen years old and wasn't able to see the woman she'd become. She knew it took someone strong and willful- as strong and willful as Buffy would had to have been to survive the years the system took from her.

Without warning, Willow disposed of the contents of her stomach onto the ground below, clutching it with both hands as she tried to ease her own discomfort in the eerie silence that descended over the empty room.


	26. Chapter 26: The Devil to Pay

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Devil to Pay

_Cottage_

10:04 AM

"So who owns that big old clunker in the shed? Are you holding it for somebody or something?"

He raised a brow. "Peeking, were we?"

"Well, you didn't say I couldn't go and have a little look around, so...witness me having already looked around."

Spike watched as she pummeled her fists into the circular mitts he wore over each hand, his blue eyes giving her a subtle, yet disapproving glare. "That _clunker_, as you so reverently call it, happens to be a nineteen fifty nine DeSoto Fireflite, Slayer. Been in mint condition since the day I got her, too. She's my baby."

Buffy only gave him a playful pout. "I thought I was your baby."

"Did I say flirting was allowed during training?"

"I wasn't flirting," she murmured. "I was just trying to lighten the mood."

"That right?" the vampire questioned rather curiously.

"Yes. Which, if you don't mind me saying, could use a whole lot of light right now because of the whole..." She paused a moment to put a bit more oomph into the punches she threw, a smile gracing her lips when she very nearly knocked him off balance, advancing a step forward while he took one back. "Willow thing. You know, Xander should've stayed until she got in. It's what a gentleman would do. Well, most gentlemen, anyway. All of that chivalry stuff is highly overrated."

"Yeah, so it is."

"You know what else?"

Spike felt her frustration through her aim and continued to stand his ground, giving her both the privilege to vent and the freedom to build upon and execute her skills at the same time, pleased that he'd had the mitts on hand in the closet in his room. They'd served him well in sparring matches on several occasions in the gym, but he was loathe to admit the poor sods who were up to the challenge were always crying for their dear mums before the day was out. The rest of their weapons were due to arrive from Lorne's shortly, and he eagerly anticipated it- namely if the force she was currently exerting was any indication of the accelerated rate her abilities had been consistently developing at. "What's that, love?"

"He really should've told her how he feels. Now he might never get the chance."

"Red's gonna be fine. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but the bird's got smarts. She's tougher than we give her credit for."

"It's just a lot to handle for one guy, though. I mean, Rack's gone. He's dead, Spike. It's not like Adlam has a little helper minding his every move anymore. He's always called the shots, but he may as well be going into this blind now."

"Not necessarily. Bloke like that usually has reinforcements. He's the guy behind the big plan, remember? The mastermind. We underestimated how long he kept Rack alive, much less that he engaged the prospect of teamwork."

"It's his way of telling us to come to him," she insisted. "He knows we will now because of Willow. He doesn't have to do anything else. This is it. His maiden voyage. No more phone calls. No more possessions or spells that make innocent people crazy. She's the answer to giving him me. It's the only incentive he needs."

"Well, he bloody well can't have you," he muttered. Dropping the mitts from his hands, he moved in low and fast and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, spinning her wildly about in his arms and letting his lips tease hers. " 'Cuz as it so happens, you're already taken."

"Oh, really?" she asked, reluctantly breaking the kiss and feigning shock. "By who, kind sir?"

"By the biggest, baddest vampire in all the land."

"Something's definitely big," Buffy noted carefully, as she glanced down between them with some amusement, "but I don't think it's a vampire."

"You're really spry this morning, Summers. Such a wicked little-"

The sound of a throat deliberately clearing itself had them both turning around and instantly separating from one another, the petite girl unable to hide the flush that spread across her cheeks as she looked up into the stone-faced gaze of Rupert Giles. The record keeper had two exceptionally large duffel bags slung over each of his shoulders and carefully dropped them to the floor, reaching behind him for a third that he'd already set down near the front door. His eyes settled on Spike as he spoke, his voice soft, his tone indeterminable. "I sincerely hope I'm not interrupting anything terribly important, but I've brought you the items you've requested from Caritas. Lorne's informed me that he wishes he could be here, but as fate would have it, business is apparently booming for him this morning and he wasn't keen on passing up a good thing. He hopes you'll excuse his tardiness and he may be by later. Buffy."

She nodded in greeting, suddenly feeling oddly self-conscious. "Hello, Mr. Giles."

"William, may I, um, may I have a word with you?"

"Yeah." He turned to the blonde who still waited a bit awkwardly for some kind of instruction, giving her shoulder a warm squeeze. "Go on into the kitchen and check on Xander, pet. I'll be by in a bit, yeah?"

"No problem," she sided, as she hurried off in the other direction, never once looking back as she made her swift exit.

"So, Rupes, what seems to be on your-" He didn't get to finish when he felt the pressure of his mentor's forearm roughly plant itself against his neck, backing him straight into the wall and holding him in place. If Spike had been mortal, the tight grip would've cut off his air supply, depriving him of much needed oxygen. As it stood, he could've easily applied his enhanced strength and shifted his stance to break free. But he soon found out he didn't have to when the man in front of him let him go and angrily placed both hands across his hips as he simply glared at him.

"What gives you the right to violate that poor girl's integrity for your own stupid, selfish means? Has what I've said honestly meant nothing to you after all this time? Have you gone completely mad?"

The vampire ran a hand over the length of his neck as he tried to sooth the ache, resigning himself to the fact that there'd be a slight case of bruising from the botched attempt at damaging a windpipe he never used. "Afraid I don't know what you're referring to. But just so we're clear, do that again and you'll wish you hadn't. Don't think I need to remind you that tryin' to blooming choke me has no effect on what I am. Throw all the punches you like, but don't you dare start lecturing me about what's logical and good in this world. I've lived in it far too long for that."

"You have, yes. But some of us live without ever having quite lived at all."

"I'll have to keep that in mind then, won't I?"

"Are you actually going to deny that you've slept with her, William, or are you already that much over it that you don't give a damn? You've seen so much more than she ever has and for you to even-"

"For me to what? You may as well just say it, Rupert, 'cuz you're really one to talk."

Giles' expression mellowed somewhat. "I beg your pardon?"

"The Summers' house."

"What about it?" he returned impatiently.

"It's in your name, ain't it?" Spike prompted. "I haven't actually had the time to look, of course, but odds are it's what I'll find if I do. You deliberately neglected to maintain the property so it wouldn't bleeding sell, didn't you? Couldn't be bothered to have 'em taint Joyce's legacy and leave her only daughter with nowhere to go if she ever gets released from prison on good behavior. But that would mean you'd have to tell her what you kept from her all those years. Seeing her mum, the whole lot of it."

"I loved Joyce," he whispered, "and if the occasion had...presented itself where Buffy had indeed been released from the institution, I would've had some explaining to do, yes. But as I told you before, I was only looking out for her in her mother's absence. She was almost like a daughter to me."

"Well, you can forget discretion being the better part of valor here, 'cuz I already told her."

"William-"

"Everything," he finished. "I told her everything."

"You had no right," he hissed. "No right at all. It was for me to decide."

"And the art gallery? Was that for you to decide, too? Like it or not, she would've found out sooner or later. No sense wasting any more time than we already have, is there?" Spike laughed in spite of himself and aimed his fist into the plaster of the wall, only mildly surprised when it failed to yield to him upon impact, the force he'd used barely leaving a dent in its wake. Flexing the sore fist, he let it dangle at his side. "Bollocks."

Giles merely shook his head. "Hurting yourself won't solve anything, and if you're speaking of Willow, then yes. Both you and Xander will have to answer for it. Asking her to come along with the two of you was not only ill-advised, but incredibly asinine. You had no right to involve her in such a thing. If those agents had seen you and Buffy there, chances are they'd have done a lot more to you than pull you off this case. You aren't supposed to be involved, William."

"Oh, 'cuz I took advantage of her, right?"

"You're capable of better judgment. You know you are. Whether she wanted it or-"

"I wouldn't have done it if she didn't want it. You know me well enough by now."

"Yes, well, perhaps the more intimate details of your night together are best left unshared for the moment, as I've also received a bit of news that you may not want to hear right now."

"About Buffy?"

"No, but I've reason to believe there's a connection that'll lead back to her eventually. Especially given what I've already heard about what the Feds have tried to keep under wraps and out of the public's eyes and ears."

"Another murder?"

"No, I...I mean, yes. It's...well, quite a few, I presume. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if they air it on the evening news."

"Don't know what you're tryin' to get at here, gramps, but-"

"Jenny's contacts received a report regarding approximately twenty-five individuals who've gone missing these past couple of days under rather mysterious circumstances. Their families filed a missing person's on each of them, yet the department has yet to turn up anything concrete as to their whereabouts. It's as if they've just vanished. There was, however, also a young man that was found dead and drained of blood a mile from this location with two small puncture wounds in his neck."

"Son of a bitch."

"Yes, that, um, seems to be the general consensus at the moment. Xander tells me you killed Rack in such a manner, but the gentleman they found had no identification card on him and didn't fit the description of an escaped warlock at large."

"I called Ethan to clean up Rack."

"Ah, yes," Giles remarked candidly. "Ethan Rayne. How I've not missed his meddlesome ways."

"He sends his warmest regards," Spike offered, unable to resist cracking a smirk.

"He would, wouldn't he? Pillock."

"Pillock or not, he's on our side, so you can stop your yammering. But if this story they're tossin' around is anything to get excited about, it means we've got a vampire or vampires gettin' the lay of the land right here in Los Angeles. Wankers are playing on my turf."

"Didn't suspect you would take too kindly to that."

"You thought right. Was there any kind of signature left on the victim?"

"A mark of some sort, you mean."

"Yeah, like that."

"Then no, there wasn't. At least none that were physically present at the time of the autopsy report. Jenny's given me all she has on that and it was awfully hard to come by."

"Well, given the decline in numbers with my kind over the years, that's a hell of a lot of people to turn in a bloody short amount of time. Can't be a demon, 'cuz there'd be lots of bloodshed. They don't tend to go straight for the jugular. Doesn't fit Houdini, either. He's all about leavin' no trace and havin' us search for the puzzle pieces ourselves. All about gettin' us to work for it." He glanced down the hall and toward the kitchen, Buffy and Xander's voices mingling together. A smile flitted across his face for a brief moment, before lapsing into a gradual frown. "Farfetched as it sounds, it's almost as if someone out there's lookin' to try and build some kind of an-"

"Army," Giles finished for him. "Yes, I know. Those that are missing are purported to have frequented the same area at the time of their disappearances. I was going to suggest that we head down there tonight to get a look at the scene ourselves. Perhaps we could split up, get a feel for the type of crowd that...hangs there, if you will."

"Great use of the lingo, Rupes. You'll fit right in."

"We could question those that are there on a regular basis. One of them may have seen something."

"All right," he conceded. "Just let me put on my black trench coat and sunglasses and we'll meet back here in an hour. Might have to touch up the 'do and go a bit darker, too. Don't want to draw too much attention to myself."

"There's no need to resort to such childishness, William. If anything, this could very well be connected to your case."

"I like to think of it as just a bunch of undead bastards gettin' a few last kicks in before some poor bugger puts a stake through their hearts. And right now, I'm thinkin' I'd like it to be me. Moreover, the place is gonna be crawling with Feds. Harris says Lockley's been a no-show since Willy's burned down, and you can bet her cronies won't be nearly so forthcoming with information. They're all about usin' the cuffs and provoking random spots of violence. They'll make us the second we arrive. Just 'cuz they're not too bright doesn't mean they don't have a knack for it."

"I was under the impression the Feds had already done their job. According to the additional information Jenny's sources have provided, the coast is expected to be clear. The strip club and the Summers house hold far greater interest for them."

"Well, fancy that."

Giles sat himself in one of the arm chairs, rubbing his hands together briefly before breathing what appeared to be an immensely tiresome sigh. The silence dragged on a bit longer before he permitted himself to speak to the vampire in front of him again, shutting his lids as he did so. "I realize you don't approve of my constant interference in the state of your more...personal affairs, but what exactly are your intentions for that young woman in there once this is over? That's even saying you both come out of it alive. How do you even propose to do right by her? I'm not asking this as your teacher, but as your friend."

"I don't think it's me and her you should be worried about anymore."

Opening his eyes, Giles only scowled. "Don't you think that's a bit-"

"I can't really break this to you gently, Rupes, so I'm just gonna come out with it." Spike sat down across from him and rested his arms upon his knees, cautiously leaning in a bit closer while he spoke, his blues somber. "Buffy and I are convinced that Joyce is still alive. We found something back at the Summers' house that suggests foul play that night. I think she may have been under the influence of a hallucinogenic Adlam used to fake her mum's death. I'm familiar with it and it's been known to make things appear a lot more real than they are. She remembered seeing the bottle on the table near the bed. Hid it before the cops got there. We found it in her basement."

"When you say remembered..."

"I had to break her out of it. She was in some trancelike state when she was recalling what happened. It's like she just snapped."

"I see," he said quietly, just barely audible. "Well. I...must say this is by far the cruelest form of punishment you could've possibly devised for me."

"Punishment?"

"You knew what we were to each other. You _knew_. But to go and make a complete mockery out of that is the lowest you've ever gone. To have brought that girl into it is utter rubbish, considering what she's already been through. The gall you have to mislead her into thinking her mother still lives so that it'll be all that much easier for her to fall into your arms is the most despicable-"

"Oh, for God's sake, I'm telling you the truth!"

"There was a funeral, William. Each one of those people that attended it saw her body. The _police_ saw her body. They carried her out of the house. There are countless witnesses who would swear on a grave of their own relative that they saw her."

"Bugger that." Spike stood and began pacing the length of the living room, fumbling clumsily in the pocket of his jeans for a much needed cigarette. The inability to cope with the irritation he was experiencing was starting to slowly eat away at him, and he just barely resisted the urge as he put the pack back without having succumbed to it, mentally congratulating himself on the minor feat. "They saw what they saw 'til that body was buried six feet under and the effects of the magic wore off. No more to it than that."

"You've crossed a line you had no business crossing."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Giles stared pointedly at him. "Dare I ask what that's supposed to mean?"

"Might want to have a chat with the slayer about it first, as I've already ended my little session of show and tell. You can pick up an abridged version at the door."

"You're kicking me out?"

"No, Rupert, I'm showin' you out. There's a difference."

"As opposed to what?" he braved. "You outright lied to me about someone I cared a great deal for and automatically expect me to conform to your outlandish ways when you haven't given me the slightest notion of proof to support your cause. You have no-"

"Is this proof enough for you?"

He jumped as a miniscule bottle was slammed down onto the coffee table, directly invading his line of vision, a very perturbed Buffy stepping back to survey his reaction. Her arms wove themselves across her chest as she curiously watched him pick it up to more thoroughly examine it, adjusting his spectacles as he leaned in further. The record keeper soundlessly recited the phrase scrawled over it in Latin to himself, bringing it closer to take a slight whiff of it with his nose.

"I wouldn't recommend opening it," Spike advised him. "You'll put all three of us out of it right quick."

"I've seen this before. On the black market. It tends to fetch a decent amount for those that still attempt to practice with it. You can make yourself immune to it if you know what you're doing. I regret to say that I'm not all that well read with this particular blend, but I've heard it's incredibly toxic."

"I'd wager it was much easier to come by seven years ago. Maybe even before then. Either way, he got his hands on it and there could be more where that came from."

"If you're looking for an antidote to combat its effects, I currently don't know of any that are strong enough to withstand such aggression. Perhaps I could call Jenny and run this by her. She's working another angle for me now, but this likely takes precedent over that."

"Wouldn't tell her about Joyce just yet. We need to get a location first, and preferably a spell book so I can school Buffy a mite more in her training. We'd discussed it this morning and wanted to go the holo route, but the longer we take, the more difficult it becomes for Red."

"And the missing people?"

"I'll see if Harris wants to tag along with us. It's been hard gettin' him to do much of anything since he got here, though. Too worried about Willow to care and not enough about the mission. Maybe this might take his mind off it for a bit. Feel bad for the sod tryin' to fight something he doesn't fully understand yet."

"Maybe you should explain it better to me then, because I've read the book, seen the movie and I'm still a little lost and fuzzy on the concept."

"Or we could just leave him here tonight and I could go with you guys," Buffy filled in, tensing somewhat as the man who'd just spoken stumbled lazily into view. They all looked up to see an exceptionally drunk Xander laughing at them as he threw his empty shot glass against the wall over his partner's head and collapsed into the sofa, the tiny shards exploding in an array of color as the glass crumbled into fragments that littered the floor.

"That's very sweet of you to volunteer and all, platelet, but you're not prepared for this yet."

"So prepare me," she told him, entirely serious. "Xander found out vampires were real after I did, so if anything, I basically outrank him. Besides, if I don't do this now, I'll never be ready. As great as the idea of the holo footage sounded, we're so far beyond it now that we don't need it anymore. Plus, hey, hello- it's not like I'd be going in defenseless. I already know a vampire and he's sitting right here."

"These vampires won't have souls, Buffy. They're without morals and don't see things like-"

"Yeah, but you mentioned you could lose your soul, too, so how is it any different from you?"

Giles sharply stood up, his countenance more than just a little troubled by the assumption, eyes blazing. "What the hell is she talking about, William?"

"Nothing. It's nothing, Rupes. Just step it back a notch already, all right?"

"I most certainly will not! And just for the record, I'm nowhere near as stupid as you think I am. I want to know what she meant by that and I'd like to know this instant."

"It was a close call, that's it."

"Don't placate me, William. If you're in danger of returning to your former self then I believe I need to know about it. As remote a possibility as it may seem, there's always a chance, isn't there?"

"I was a tad overwhelmed by the kill," he informed him, shrugging. "After I did Rack in, I-"

"He also bit me," Buffy put in somewhat too quickly.

"He _what_?"

"Spike needed to- I was recalling what I went through the night my mom...well, I wouldn't say died, because I don't believe she's dead anymore, Mr. Giles. But he helped me. If he hadn't done what he did, I don't know what I would've done. I wasn't myself and he brought me out of it."

"Yes, but at what cost for him?" he returned.

"I'm fine, Rupert."

"For now. The two of you defied me and engaged in who knows how many countless acts of passion the night before, and all the while aware that whatever was inside of him could have already broken free long before you surrendered to lust. You trusted him enough to touch you, and…and what then, hmm? Would either of you be willing to live with the consequences of your actions if he'd drained you and was much too caught up to realize it?"

"I live with the consequences of mine every day," Buffy countered softly.

"I...I wasn't about to imply that you were responsible for what became of your mother. It's just-"

"But I do- feel responsible sometimes. Spike made me see that I'm not without regrets and it's okay to have them."

"Yes, and though I'm none too pleased with either of you this morning, I won't hold your ineptitude against you. The two of you gave in much too quickly to-"

"Forgive me, but I don't really think that's any of your business, Mr. Giles. What we did last night was private."

"That may very well be, but it doesn't change the fact that Adlam is encouraging William to return to whatever part of him he abandoned when he got his soul. The pull is there and if it gets to be too strong, he won't be able to control it, and I don't want you getting hurt."

"He wouldn't hurt me."

"Let's not be too hasty. A soulless vampire is capable of creating so much more destruction and is never above various forms of trickery to further that destruction."

"She knows, Rupes. Look, I've got someone stopping by today that should be able to tell us a bit more about what's really going on. She's more experienced than Calendar and she's managed to hide from the ban since the onset. Name's Tara."

"Ah, yes. Tara Maclay. I've heard of her. Perhaps she'll be able to suss out where they're holding Willow as well. Although, given what she'd be getting herself into, she might not want to align herself with us at all."

"If she does a locator spell, we won't need her for the rest of it. She can help me out with my other little problem and be on her merry."

"And for those of us who are me right now and not about to get lucky or currently in the process of having sex," Xander spoke up, "how the heck do we even know it'll work? Our team is one member short and we're nowhere near ready to take this guy on. He knows we haven't got a prayer. He's got us right where he wants us."

"He could block any incoming spells, too," Buffy pointed out. "Spike couldn't even track those phone calls. He doesn't want us to know where he is. He never has, yet he always seems to know just where we are. The blueprints, the art gallery..."

"I think I need some aspirin," the brunette added. "You have anything besides plasma in this house? I'm aiming for sober."

Spike only shook his head and reached into a tall glass cabinet to his right, removing what appeared to be a slim, silver pocket knife, unsheathing it as he approached his partner and sat down beside him. Getting a decent grip on his left arm, he moved in to slice a fairly shallow cut into the other man's palm, immediately drawing blood. Xander screamed at the top of his lungs, as he clutched his injured hand to his chest, his brown eyes wide with horror.

"That sober enough for you? Slayer, run and get some antiseptic and gauze. They're upstairs in the first aid kit. Bathroom."

"William!" Giles shouted.

"Teach him to get drunk again, won't it?" He could hear a car pulling up along the edge of the road and placed the knife in the back pocket of his jeans, reaching for a damp towel in the kitchen as he removed the metallic stench of blood from his hands and mindlessly tossing it into the garbage disposal on his way out the door. The woman who emerged from the vehicle a good distance away looked to him to be about Buffy's age, her long, straight blonde hair tied back into a loose ponytail, her eyes big and blue. She wore a lengthy cream colored skirt and a thin, ratty beige sweater over a white tank top.

He watched her hesitate as he came toward her, the expression crossing her pretty face a combination of fear and shock. There was also something else there that he couldn't quite determine, her fingers curling themselves around the handle to the driver's side door. "I'm looking for William Pratt," she managed in a fairly light tone, her demeanor lacking the confidence he'd seen in so many others who were skilled in the craft, her eyes training themselves shyly on her shoes. "I must have the wrong house."

"I'm Detective William Pratt," he offered. "But it's usually just Spike. Given that handy bit of information, it looks like you've got the right place."

"You're a vampire."

"Thought I made that pretty clear on the phone with the message I left you, pet."

"You're out. In the daytime."

"Long story."

"Yeah, you said you had a soul," she told him. "But that still doesn't explain the daytime thing."

"That's right. But like I said, long story."

"Except you don't. Have a soul, I mean. I...well, I can sense your aura and it's..."

"It's what?" he tried, tilting his head to the side.

"There's nothing there."

Spike advanced a step closer to her, and was puzzled when she re-opened her car door and slipped behind it, putting it up as a kind of barrier between them. "Come again?"

"You don't have one," she eventually managed. "A soul."

"Bollocks. Fought for it myself. Almost to the death. Now, unless-"

"It may have been there, but it's not there now. I can sense your humanity, but not your soul. I don't know where it's coming from, but it's not coming from your soul. At least, not anymore."

"Then where is it bloody coming from?" He gently placed a hand over hers and felt her flinch as he allowed his thumb to graze her knuckles, showing her that he had absolutely no intention of harming her.

It almost seemed to calm her as he felt her begin to relax, her eyes meeting his while she continued to study him. "It's not a claim, but she's somehow tied to you. The girl."

"The slayer."

"She's...she is to you what you are to her," Tara muttered, as if addressing herself rather than him. "There's a bond. I've never seen anything like it. Whatever was taken from you might not really be gone. More like it's buried and something else is interferring. It's all a little confusing. But you won't hurt me."

"Just figured that last part out now, did you?"

"I..."

"A friend of ours has gone missin'," he began, waiting until she'd started following him to the cottage, slinging a small purse across her chest as she worked at getting a better idea of her surroundings while she listened. "Depending upon how good you are, I had it up in my noggin that you could try and find out where she is."

"It could be difficult if he's into the black arts. But you already mentioned that with your own situation in your message."

"I did."

"And if he finds me, I won't-"

"You just leave that up to me," he assured her.

"I've never done business with a...a-"

"Vampire before? Right then. Guess there's a first time for everything. Why don't you come inside and we'll have ourselves a nice chat."


	27. Chapter 27: A Spanner in the Works

Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Spanner in the Works

3:39 PM

"Well, if it isn't the woman of the hour," Lorne murmured, handing her his hat with one hand, while he just barely succeeded in balancing something clumsily wrapped in white and pink tissue paper with the other, his red eyes curiously scanning the interior of the living room. "I don't suppose you have any idea where your other half is lurking? This thing didn't come cheap, and since you're both no longer in residence over at Caritas, I thought I'd bring the party to you. Merry Christmas a few days early, huh?"

"Thanks." Buffy gratefully accepted the miniscule bundle, surprised by the fact that it barely weighed more than a few ounces, her green eyes giving it a brief onceover as she tried to figure out what was concealed beneath the colorful sheets. "That's so sweet."

"Well, what can I say? I seem to be full of it today. Are the guys still around, or..."

"They're investigating some kind of lead from a report Giles got. Spike's gonna join them later. People are missing and they think vampires might be involved."

"Is that all?" he quipped. "Boy, the world's really gone to Hell in a handbasket."

She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess it's a pretty big deal, because there haven't really been any sightings in a long time. Well, unless you count the detective that lives here and has all manner of mood swings."

Lorne merely nodded, his mouth in a tight line. "Where is he?"

"Master bedroom, I think. I haven't been up there since Tara left. She was the witch he called to help us. She didn't exactly manage to get a location on where they've got Willow, and Spike, he..." She forced a smile, but it never reached the rest of her face. "I don't know. One minute he's so open and relaxed and we're actually getting along just fine. The next, it's...it's like he's somewhere else again and goes and cuts himself off. It's basically what I did to him when we met, though, so he's probably just returning the favor."

"Oh, don't talk like that, sweetie. It's not you. I could feel it the minute I walked in here, and _believe_ me, it's not you. Give me a few minutes with him."

She only shrugged as she went to set the gift on the table in the kitchen, surprised when he followed her in and placed a comforting green hand upon the small of her back, giving it a quick rub. She wasn't even entirely conscious of the fact that she'd turned and buried her nose in his chest until his arms wrapped themselves around her, drawing her even closer and giving her a much needed hug. "Easy there, kitten. I may not be completely in the loop here as to what's really going on, but I can almost guarantee it isn't what you think it is."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled.

"It's not the first time he's shut himself away." Lorne gave her one last squeeze before he let her go and ventured to the stairwell, taking a breath as he bravely began to climb the steps. The hallway at the top was bathed in light, yet he could still feel the emptiness that existed within its walls. An emptiness someone else had tried to put there. Whatever happiness that had existed prior to the events of today were slowly starting to fade back into oblivion, leaving an odd sense of hopelessness in its wake. The bad vibes he'd been getting on his way over to the cottage and had tried his best to ignore had not only given him a throbbing headache, but had only grown stronger the second Buffy had invited him inside.

The door to the bedroom was ajar just a smidgeon and he cautiously pushed it open even further, almost afraid of what he might find inside. His friend was standing near the window, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips as he mechanically toyed with the small silver ring that still occupied his right hand, his blue eyes seemingly distracted by whatever lay just beyond the property line. He slowly removed the stick from his mouth, clasping it between his index and middle finger as he blew out a gradual stream of smoke, angling his body a fraction of an inch towards the disruption while barely managing to acknowledge it. The curls covering his bleached blonde head were untamed, and the white button down shirt he'd haphazardly tossed on was still unbuttoned, the sleeves raised to his elbows, his bare chest exposed. The jeans covering the lower half of his frame were riddled with obvious holes and were in essence a fairly sharp contrast to the top half of the ensemble.

"Think you could try belting out a few notes for me there, Billy Idol?"

Spike only smirked as he took one last drag, flattening the tip of his cigarette into the ashtray he'd placed at his feet- which were still very much of the bare variety. "What for? So you can tell me how bleeding messed up I am when I pretty much knew it already? Thanks all the same, mate, but you can save it."

"Well, you took a shower, so I guess that's a start."

"Don't know what a shower's got to do with losin' my soul," he quipped, laughing quietly to himself, as he stepped over the ashtray and began the search for his combat boots. "What you should be doing is gettin' as far away from me as you can."

"Yeah, funny thing about that." Lorne bravely stepped into the disarray and grabbed himself a seat on the bed that had been stripped of its sheets, the bare mattress rather soft to the touch.

"Look, you already know Rupes and Harris aren't down there. The meeting's been adjourned, they're out in the field, so why the hell in God's name are you still here?"

"Maybe because I find it awfully amusing that a guy who believes he's just lost the better part of himself is still using the Lord's epithet if he's already gone and rid himself of a conscience."

"Perhaps you need to explain it to me then," he retorted.

"Oh, I'll do more than that," Lorne muttered, speaking to himself rather than the vampire standing in front of him, hands planted firmly on his hips as he stood again. "You're in love! You haven't lost anything. It was a spell, for crying out loud. Whatever was in Rack's blood when you killed him screwed with your mind, amigo. And when I say screwed, I mean _big_ time. More importantly, I think it was deliberate, which is why he baited you in the first place. He's replaceable, right? Now, crazy as this sounds, it's not contagious, or else it would've been exchanged through bodily fluids when you and Buffy, for lack of a more appealing term...got it on last night. You're old enough to know where I'm coming from with that, so I won't go into specifics, but the point is, you're hanging yourself out to dry for this and you don't have to."

"Tara couldn't sense my soul. She said it wasn't there," he insisted. "How is that even possible?"

"Once again, the effects of the spell. Which aren't permanent, by the way. And just for the record, she was right. I mean whatever else you th-"

"She said the only reason I still had some good left in me was a result of Buffy's influence. Mentioned some sort of bond we have between us."

"That's another reason why I came. See, those other juicy tidbits were courtesy of Madame Ramirez. She's a demonic fortune teller friend of mine who also happens to do an impressive rendition of 'It's My Party' by Lesley Gore when she's not completely wasted to high heaven. Anyway, I happened to catch her in a good mood this morning and asked her for a free reading. Wanted to know if she might have some insight into this little debacle you'd gotten yourself into, and wow, did she ever. You didn't sound so good the last time I talked to you, so I knew something was up. That's when she told me about your soul and the effects a soon to be deceased warlock's blood would have on it. He's obviously dead and gone now, but you get the picture."

"The bond?" he responded somewhat impatiently.

"Only that you two are more alike than different. Little vague there. I wasn't quite sure how to take it, considering our gal Buffy doesn't exactly help herself to a pint of blood on a daily basis like yours truly. Either way, she was apparently sustaining any humanity you were duped into thinking you lost. When you two did the deed, you didn't by any chance go and...did you?"

"Didn't claim her, though I don't see why what we do in our free time is suddenly the only topic of discussion alive and kickin' here this morning. It's not like it was printed in the sodding paper."

"Oh, I'm just glad you two finally got to the bottom of the tension issue. She's also the first woman you didn't give the boot to. Well, besides Drusilla and to a certain extent Harmony, which I'll never really understand no matter how long I live. But the bottom line, if there is one, is that this calls for celebration. Although, if you would only give in and sing for me from time to time, I wouldn't have to pull rabbits out of hats to get to the root of your problems anymore."

"And Buffy?"

"Buffy's wondering when you'll reclaim the set of balls you temporarily lost and join her downstairs."

"We've got some new players in town," Spike remarked, rolled his eyes as he began to button his shirt, his gaze still on the hunt for the combat boots he remembered throwing across the carpet earlier. "Vampires."

"So I heard. Happy hunting there, as you'll need more than a couple of your fake stakes if he or she or _them_ is turning people."

"Twenty-five have been reported missin' so far. Twenty-six if you count the bloke they drained and left for dead. If that smug piece of crap wanted my attention again, he's got it. Won't let him forget it, either."

"That's the spirit. You might try getting over there and supporting your fellow team members, too. They could probably use the assistance. Take your girl with you. Trust me, you can argue about that all you want, but she actually specializes in slaying your kind for a living."

"Right then. Look, I know I haven't exactly- well, to be frank, I've probably been a terrible bastard to you more often than not, and I wanted to say I'm sorry. You took us in when you didn't have to, and I let you get caught up in all this without ever bothering to-"

"Hey, if evil's coming into my city and giving it one heck of a makeover, I'm happy I know the guy who wants to kick its ass before he calls it a day."

"We're not gonna hug or anything, are we?"

"We had a moment and it passed," Lorne assured him, smiling. "Don't worry about it, champ."

"Great, terrific- but what I worry about is Tara. The chit risked a lot coming out here to see me. Her spells weren't any match for the shield he's got over Red, but it doesn't mean he won't know she's tryin' to crack it. We need to start lookin' at properties purchased within the last seven years. Possibly earlier. He won't have it under his name, and it's not just her he's holding there, so he'd need somewhere that isn't too shabby with the right setup. Privacy, too. Lots of privacy. Think you could swing by her shop and give her a hand with it? Keep her company?"

The demon only scrunched up his nose. "I hate to burst any bubbles here, but my expertise doesn't really lie in real estate."

"And I s'pose mine does?"

"Good point. I'll, uh, get right on that and check in later, boss."

"Not your boss," the vampire mused. "But if I were, I'd tell you to hurry."

After Lorne made his way out of the room and exited around the corner, Spike reached for his micro cell and weapon on the first shelf of his closet, securing both in their rightful places before finally locating his missing combat boots on the other side of the bed. He'd just managed to get the first one tied when his micro, having responded to the voice command settings he'd activated, informed him he had an incoming call from a private number. Heaving a sigh he had no use for, and having a slight inkling of who it might be, he reluctantly decided to let it through. "Well, if it isn't the boy wonder himself."

"How'd you like the gift? Did you find some use for it?"

Spike slowly rubbed his temple, trying to rid himself of what was sure to be added stress. "Yeah, and I liked it just fine. All things considered, I don't think you constantly need to be reminded of what a genius you are, so why don't we just get to that part where you tell me why you're calling me and save ourselves the grief."

"I thought we were buds," the voice protested. "You were of recent guestage in my basement."

"We are, Andrew, and I did. It's just...I've got a bit of a situation here, and I really don't feel like wasting what few precious minutes I have chattin' about one of your latest and greatest toys. You wouldn't have found this number if you weren't the best at what you do, so we'll leave it there and move on."

"Was that an actual compliment, Spike?"

"If I say yes, can I file a restraining order?"

"That's not why I called, anyway," Andrew stated in a huff.

"Is this where I take three guesses, or do you plan on putting me out of my sodding misery soon? Look, rushed as I am here, I did plan on running an idea by you for a game of sorts, but-"

"I intercepted a report from a hospital in Long Beach," he went on, cutting him off.

"Intercepted?"

"It's a record of all their incoming patients. They keep it stored in one of those private registry files that are all about confidentiality and tough to crack. I was actually checking into something for a client when the name popped up."

"And this name would be?"

"Jane Doe."

"Well, that really narrows it down, doesn't it?" Spike's jaw clenched and he willed himself to have some patience, reminding himself just who he was having the conversation with. "Maybe you'd be better off tryin' to get a hold of a John to reunite 'em."

"You're not even listening!" Andrew objected.

"You've got nothing I want to hear."

"Then maybe you'll want to hear this," he vouched. "I went and I typed in the command to access the photo they took when they couldn't find any ID on her and I recognized it. It's the same woman we saw in those pictures I took of Jennifer Hart's crime scene. Kate Lockley. The one that's trying to compromise your case."

"You're sure?"

"I'm more than sure. You _do_ remember who she is, right? She's practically the bane of your existence."

"Yeah, I know who she is. Suffice it to say, we've already met."

"Oh, well then you might be even more interested in what else I have to tell you."

"Hurt herself in the line of duty, did she? Last time I saw her was at Willy's yesterday."

"The strip club that burned down."

"That's the one," he offered ruefully.

"Well, she was beaten pretty badly," he filled him in. "To the point where she lost consciousness. This guy and his girlfriend found her unresponsive in an abandoned parking lot early this morning. There's a note here from the doctor who treated her saying she may also have been raped. They ran a few tests and they're still waiting for the results. Do you-"

"Get me the address of the hospital," he snapped. Spike abruptly ended the call after he acquired the necessary information, reciting the location aloud and loading it into the database of his micro cell while promptly securing the laces of his second boot. He grabbed his black denim LAPD jacket from the closet, taking his baseball cap with it as he made his way down the stairs, pausing momentarily to inspect the sight of the small, green battery powered Christmas tree seated on the coffee table, its lights flashing repeatedly from a vibrant gold to a simmering red.

"Lorne brought it over," Buffy informed him as she emerged from the kitchen, her hands plunged deep into the pockets of her jeans, a slow grin forming as she watched the tree perform its subtle transformation. "Bigger isn't always better, I guess."

Spike only shot her a look as he tilted his head, barely concealing a teasing gleam in his blues. "Care to make a wager on that?"

"Well, not for Christmas trees, anyway. I wasn't referring to...other things, so you can get your mind out of the gutter now. Anyway, I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I opened it. It seemed too pretty not to put on display."

"Not a problem. S'pose we could use a little something to spruce it up in here. Makes it seem more like the holidays, yeah?"

"Are we good?" she blurt out then.

"Good?" he echoed, placing the cap over his head and throwing on the jacket.

"I...I mean good in the sense that you're still okay with us?"

"Had a bit of a scare for awhile," he told her honestly, approaching her with some trepidation, wondering if she'd let him touch her. When she didn't make a move to retreat back into the room behind her, he tugged gently on a loose strand of her hair and left a quick peck on her forehead. "Turns out Rack's blood was tainted and messed with my head. It's where all of my doubt was coming from. Mostly just in the sense of thinkin' I lost my soul. Whatever it was is gone now, though. I can't feel it anymore, so it's likely out of my system completely. If it weren't for you, I probably would've felt it a tad more strongly and done something I would've never forgiven myself for. You were keepin' me sane as it tried to rip me apart inside. Rupert was right to overreact."

"So something was definitely amiss," she commented. "But that doesn't- last night when we...I...was that still you?"

"It was me, Buffy."

"Well, great," she decided, "because I really liked it."

"_Liked_?"

Buffy placed a fingertip to his nose and tapped it. "You rocked my world, all right? But I was more than just a little disappointed that you refused to join me in the shower this morning."

"There'll be other opportunities," he assured her. " 'Sides, Harris kind of spoiled our plans with the news he had about Red, didn't he? In the meantime, though, we need to pay a visit to a hospital in Long Beach."

"Why, what's in Long Beach?"

"Kate."

"She's meeting us there, or there as in..."

"The second one. Andrew rang me and told me she was recently admitted under Jane Doe. Probably why she never made good on her attempt to contact us."

"Was it a vampire attack?"

"Don't know. But the sooner we get there, the-"

She put out a hand and caught the sleeve of his jacket, her eyes probing his as she searched his face for answers, her nerves caught between frustration and bordering on the cusp of outright anger. "What else aren't you telling me?"

"Grab something warm to wear, Buffy."

"Spike."

"We'll talk on the way. Just grab something and do as I say for once, all right?"

"Fine," she ground out, as she marched over to one of the duffels and unzipped it, swiftly pawing through its contents. "But if you don't start talking, I'll swear I might feel compelled to actually beat it out of you."

"Save it for training. Chances are, no one's figured out they're keepin' her there yet, so if we hurry we can make it there before her team finds out."

"It's not Adlam, though, is it? It's not him, because whatever you're not saying is the reason why."

Spike watched her throw a beige sweater that was a bit too big over her head, yanking it down over the tank top she'd worn yesterday before the rest of their belongings had arrived courtesy of Rupert and Lorne's efficient packing job at Caritas. Any other day he would've found himself both taken and overjoyed with the fact that she cared enough to wear his clothes, but today just wasn't that day. So instead he said nothing, gesturing with his hand as he led her out the door and slid his card through on the way out.

"Giving me the silent treatment isn't gonna make this go away," she claimed, as she allowed him to help her into the vehicle, frowning when he still made no effort to take her up on the offer and simply climbed in beside her, revving the engine and driving the car up onto the road.

"It'll be about a thirty minute ride. Might not make it back here before dark if we meet up with Rupes and Harris after the hospital."

"Then shouldn't we have brought weapons?"

Your fist'll be plenty sufficient if we run into any nasties," he advised. "And if we need stakes, we can improvise. Done it a few times back in the day and you'd be surprised at how sodding quick it comes to you. Chair leg here, tree branch there. You've already got some experience under your belt with the chair legs. Saw you use one or two back at Willy's. Just make sure it's made of wood when it pierces a vampire's heart."

"Aye aye, Captain Pratt."

He picked up on the sarcasm right away, sighing another useless sigh on her behalf. "For a covert operative, you're not exactly stealthy, pet. I get that you're still miffed about the lack of full disclosure on Lockley, and I don't blame you. But slaying aside, there are some things you're just not prepared for. The most I have is that she was beaten to the point where she wasn't conscious when they found her. Andrew's confirmed that much. I'm afraid I can't tell you what's behind door number two, 'cuz they don't know for sure. Whatever tests they ran on her haven't come back yet."

"Tests," she echoed, pronouncing it rather slowly, her voice sounding oddly hollow.

"He said as much, yeah."

"Then it's definitely not Adlam's style, because that kind of assault wouldn't appeal to him. There's never a mark on the bodies. We know a little more of the why now, but it was also that way with Harmony, and as far as we know, she hasn't disintegrated."

"If there was something on any of the news feeds, Andrew or Calendar would have picked up on it, so you're probably right."

"Kate was raped. Wasn't she?"

"This isn't the time to feel sorry for yourself 'cuz you didn't trust her. What happened or didn't happen, as the case may be, is in no way your fault. She told us to go and said she'd take care of things herself."

"Yeah, and look where that got her. We never should've left her there." She shook her head, shifting her attention to look out the window as they began to pass by the various landmarks of the city, doing what she could to ward off the tears. She was stronger than this now. She had to be. "Lorne was right."

"About what?"

"He said she would turn on us, but it just wasn't the way we thought. Whoever did that to her probably forced what she knew out of her. We were right to trust her, but Adlam also knew we were at that club. He hurt all those people."

"He did, and if we'd stayed just a little while longer, we may not have made it out of there, either. She told us to go. You heard her."

"It has to be someone or some _thing_ that's working with him. Can't be Rack due to the obvious deadness factor. We knew he liked to mind rape, but what if-"

"Buffy."

"I'm just-"

"I know what you're tryin' to do and I'm here to tell you it won't help. You can rationalize every bit of it in your cranium, but it's not gonna make what they did to her any less difficult to handle. You need to put it aside 'til we get there or else you'll end up driving yourself bug shagging crazy."

She hugged her arms tight around herself and continued to watch the apartments and buildings that flew by, unable to deny that the silence was actually quite welcoming considering the seriousness of their destination. She wasn't even aware of the fact that she dozed off until she felt a feather light hand shaking her arm, her green eyes blinking against the neon glow of the hospital sign above her, noting that Spike had apparently edged them into a slot reserved for law enforcement personnel no more than a few feet from the door. He reached beneath his visor and pulled out what looked like a sticker of some sort, displaying it over the upper left side of his windshield. Buffy tiredly watched as a red laser sensed and scanned it, blinking green in its acceptance as it validated their access.

You conked out about halfway," he told her, smiling. "Give or take."

"What is that thing?"

"It gives us authorization to enter. My name's taken and recorded, but I have the privilege of wiping it as soon as we leave to preserve the confidentiality clause. An added bonus to being a cop, as you're allowed to cover your tracks. With any luck, no one will ever know we've been here."

"Great, but we're not exactly family," she reminded him. "How are-"

"Clearance, Goldilocks. I'll tell 'em I'm here 'cuz of a recent homicide that may or may not have a connection to Jane Doe."

"I guess your department hasn't revoked it then. Kate wasn't lying."

"Yeah, well, once they find out she's here and out of commission, I probably won't stand a chance. Snyder's not really the most forgiving bloke, and it's a safe bet to assume each and every rumor you hear about him is true."

She followed him up to the entryway and saw him take his identification card and press it against the touchpad to his right, watching as it analyzed its contents and verified him, immediately releasing the lock on the door and letting them through. The nervousness Buffy felt was rapidly dissipating when he took her hand in his and urged her inside, reluctantly releasing it before he approached the front desk in the impressively spacious lobby with its extravagantly decorated glass interior, a holographic image of a young woman with long, dark brown hair manning the wide console. "Welcome, Detective William Pratt and guest. Please state whatever business it is that you have with us and we'll patch you on through to wherever you need to go."

"Requesting visitation for Doe, Jane," Spike recited. "Eighth floor. Room eight, zero, five."

"One moment, please."

"Do they have actual doctors and nurses here? Or do they just do the hologram stuff with them, too? Because, honestly, that's a little weird. I mean how do they even operate on a patient like that?"

He laughed. "This is just a formality. Far as I know, the nurses and doctors are as real as you and me. This just goes a long way in cutting to the bloody chase, is all. It's efficient and it works."

"The reason for your visitation, Detective Pratt?"

He turned back to the image and raised his brows. "Anonymous case tip and connection in regard to a homicide."

"Very well. You may enter elevator number four and we'll program in your selected coordinates. Enjoy your stay with us."

"Thank you."

The elevator ride was rather short and uneventful and let them both off on a floor that was essentially deserted, save for a single nurse making the rounds with a small plastic cart covered with food and drink and the droning of instrumental music from speakers that Spike knew were used to make the patients feel much more at ease in such a cramped and uncomfortable environment. The door to Kate's room was closed, and the body that lay in the bed no longer resembled the self-assured and seasoned FBI agent he'd been introduced to back at the mini mart. Her face and arms were lined with bruises and cuts, some of them rather deep, and her busted lip was swollen so bad the skin below it was turning a mean shade of black and blue. "Maybe you should wait out here, love."

"It's worse than you thought, isn't it?" she whispered, trying to see around him as he successfully blocked the window from her, his hand lingering on the knob.

"Yeah, it-"

"I'm a big girl," she insisted. "I'm ready."

"You fight beasties for a living," he told her. "This is something else entirely. I've seen my share that were just as severe as this, if not more so, and she's bleeding lucky she made it out of it alive from the looks of it."

"Let me in, Spike. I can handle it, I swear. I'm not the same girl anymore. You know I'm not."

"Is there something I can help you folks with?"

"Is this your floor?" The vampire turned to the nurse that he'd seen pushing the cart around just moments ago and met a pair of warm brown eyes in a face surrounded with wrinkles and curly gray hair- some of which was pulled back by a single clip.

"Marion Addison, and yep, that's me. I'm also filling in for Wendy on sixth, but it's first shift hours there. I come here right after and start getting dinner ready for them. They like their dinner."

"Do you know if the patient in eight, zero, five here has her test results back yet?"

"I'm afraid she's still unconscious, but the chart you're looking for should be just inside and on the back of the door. I'm not sure if it's been updated because she's a fairly recent arrival, but you're welcome to check, mister..."

"Pratt," he supplied. "Detective William Pratt. Homicide."

"Oh dear. I imagine that young lady in there got herself caught up in something real bad then. Such a shame how they found her. She seems so nice. I bet she was just minding her own business, too. Those are the ones they always seem to get."

"They?"

"Muggers," she answered, as if it were entirely obvious. "They must've taken her purse, too, because the doctors still don't know who she is."

"They'll probably be doing facial recognition on that tonight."

"Yes, well, as I said, we're a bit short staffed right now."

"Thanks for your help." Waiting until she'd turned the corner with her cart, Spike yanked Buffy into the room and shut the door behind him, reaching for the chart the elderly woman had spoken of, his blues scanning the various additions that had been done since Kate had been admitted. Marion hadn't recognized either of them, though he pegged her as someone whose world view wasn't big enough to include anything remotely out of the ordinary in it, so it didn't come as a huge shock to him when she'd vehemently insisted Kate's current state was the result of a good, old fashioned mugging gone wrong.

"Survey says?" Buffy inquired quietly, her glance unreadable as she took in the battered, unresponsive form on the bed, her heart just about catching and halting itself in her chest. She fought tears that once again threatened to consume her, inwardly cursing herself for the way she'd behaved around the other woman back at the club and outside of the gas station, realizing she'd have taken it all back in an instant if it just meant she'd be okay. But she could see that from here on out, nothing would probably ever be okay again.

"She's been raped," he stated and substantiated just as quietly. "Two small holes were also found embedded in her right thigh. Apart from the...blood she lost as a result of her injuries, it appears that-"

"Vampire," the slayer validated.

"Right. Listen, Buffy, you don't have to-"

"You're staying, I'm staying. She might wake up soon, and I have to know."

He only nodded, urging her to take a seat in one of the soft chairs set up by the bed, and was surprised when she slammed herself into him and wound her arms around his neck, drawing him close to her as she sought out some much needed comfort, concealing her face in his jacket.


	28. Chapter 28: Steal a March

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Steal a March

_Hospital_

5:41 PM

Under normal circumstances, Spike typically just opted for a cigarette when he found himself crumbling beneath an immense amount of pressure without a quick and efficient means of escape. The frustration always got to him before he could put a stop to the annoying habit he repeatedly seemed to resort to time and time again whenever something went wrong and he wasn't aware of a reasonable solution to bloody fix it- patience be thoroughly damned. He also figured it was why he couldn't quite discern what exactly he was currently doing standing in front of a water cooler and pouring himself a cup of the cool, clear liquid to calm and settle the bundle of nerves nagging his subconscious. Logically, he could've easily taken the higher road and satisfied the ever persistent urge a hell of a lot easier with a dose or two of nicotine coursing through his veins.

Yet here he was behaving more like a sodding human than he ever had been.

It didn't help that Buffy hadn't been experiencing anymore prophetic flashes of sorts in her dreams- or at least none that she'd been willing to confide in and tell him about. But he'd also spent each night with her since that first manifestation and his enhanced hearing hadn't witnessed anything out of the ordinary, let alone any indication that she'd deliberately keep it from him at this point. It could also mean that bleeding Adlam was playing it close to the chest and wasn't taking the chance of giving them an opportunity to suss out a proper location to wherever he'd been setting up shop and holding Red. The vampire didn't put it past him for the former Watcher to have more than one sanctuary where he conducted his business and all manner of illegal affairs.

Spike hesitantly brought the cup to his lips and took a slow sip, inwardly cringing when it brought him little pleasure, decidedly craving a liquid much more potent to satisfy his hunger. Since the effects of the spell had worn off, his entire system had been thrown out of whack and he was determined to right it again. That included more than just a slight adjustment to his preferred diet of plasma and stepping it up a notch and cutting his adversary off at the pass. The vampire wanted to make him pay for his various failures in trying to turn his slayer against him. Not that Buffy would sincerely approve of his efforts, but sometimes abstaining from old methods of attack only served to remind him of how much he'd blooming missed them.

"Sir? Sir, are you all right?"

He turned to the woman addressing him and noticed it was the same nurse he and Buffy had talked to earlier. The one that had been convinced of a mugging gone wrong. "Yeah. Fine." He finally took a moment to gaze at her nametag and returned his blue eyes to her face. "Marion."

"That pretty little thing you're with wanted me to come down and tell you that your Jane Doe's awake."

"She's talking?"

"Not a whole lot," Marion acknowledged. "But she's firmly against a meal that includes jello of any kind."

He smiled. "Imitation's never as good as the real thing. It's a wonder those buggering companies have a dime left to 'em anymore."

"I'd be inclined to agree with you there. Anyway, she's waiting for you, so if there's something you need to ask her about your homicide, now would probably be the time to do it. Visiting hours will be over shortly."

"Homicide," he repeated dully. "Right. Thanks."

The door was open to the room as he hesitantly approached, the fiery little blonde seated in a chair beside the bed the battered FBI agent occupied, cautiously speaking to her in low, hushed tones. Her entire demeanor suddenly stiffened he minute she sensed him, and she allowed her gaze to immediately connect with his, an obvious sadness etched across her lovely profile. "Hey."

"Heard she was awake," he added, irritated with himself for not quite knowing how to make the best out of a completely unfortunate situation.

"She is. She just..." Buffy stopped herself as she focused on Kate again, giving her hand a quick, gentle pat and bestowing her with an encouraging nod. "Maybe you should tell him."

"Tell me what?" he murmured, concern promptly flickering over his countenance. "Something happen?"

"Do I know him?" he heard Kate whisper, obviously addressing Buffy, but continuing to study Spike. "She said a cop had questions for me, but I'm- well, I'm not really sure how much help I'm going to be."

"And why's that, love?"

"Because I don't remember," she answered honestly.

"The attack?" he brought forth. "Or..."

"All of it, I guess. I mean I don't know where I'm from or who I am, and those are usually the big ones, right? The doctor wouldn't say anything except what the person who hurt me did to me. I can hardly move anything, but they gave me something for that. It's supposed to make the pain more bearable or something, but I'd say it's failing miserably there."

"So you can't describe the man who did this you."

Kate struggled to reach for the glass of orange juice on the small plastic table attached to the hospital bed in front of her, but pulled back when she regrettably realized she wasn't getting anywhere. Her face lit up when Buffy reached over and grabbed it for her, gingerly bringing the straw to her lips.

"It's transferred global amnesia," the slayer explained.

"Think you mean _transient_."

"Yeah, okay," she added, rolling her eyes at him, "but the point is, they say it's only supposed to be temporary. It's the severe kind and it's total memory loss, but her memories are still up there somewhere. The doctor said it should reverse itself once the brain starts to heal. He said he's had cases where some patients have regained what they forgot in a matter of days, so hope's not really lost in her case. Looks to be of the good."

"It could also take years," he amended, shrugging. "I realize you're tryin' to think all positive here, pet, and send out the good vibes, but the truth of it is, each person's different. They can do all the studies they want and there'll never be a solid guarantee."

"So we're basically dead in the water again. We've got nothing to go on."

"Well, I wouldn't necessarily put it that way, 'cuz we've still a got a general location on those missin' people. I have reason to believe a few of their recently turned resident beasties could be sent to recruit some new members to join their little club. Figure we could drop by and lend Rupes and Harris a hand or two with that."

"But what if she starts to remember a little today?"

"Your friend's right," Kate told her. "I don't think I can be of any assistance to you like this. It's the first time I've seen either of you, and nothing I say will be of any use to whatever investigations you're conducting, so you-"

"Way I figure it, whoever did this to you may have gotten the drop on you sometime after Willy's went up in flames," Spike supplied. "It was a strip club we agreed to meet at the other day and then you flat out disappeared off our radar after that. Said you'd be in touch."

"This is probably why I wasn't," she agreed, gesturing to the damage that had been inflicted upon her. "Listen, I'd really love to tell you something, I would. Anything, in fact. But as it stands, I'm drawing a blank there. I do think I need to use the bathroom, though, so if you could just bring that nurse back, maybe she could take me."

"No problem," Buffy sided as she got up and brushed past Spike, looking up and down the hall for Marion and her infamous food cart. Spike took a peek to make sure she was okay and then turned back to the bedridden agent who was now the very opposite of the woman with the tough exterior who'd cornered him in the mini mart and informed him she was on their side. There wasn't anything resembling that resilience inside her anymore, and much like the corruption Buffy had endured while she'd been powerlessly confined to a prison, the predominant loss of self in Kate had been just what her attacker had needed to break her.

And he had, he reasoned. The beating she'd suffered wasn't by any means conducive to fast and clean. It was slow and likely excruciating. The sexual assault had just been another way to exercise that loss of control as someone else retained it. He'd watched Angelus exert that same kind of power over his victims years ago, and each time he thought he'd convinced himself he'd shed all of those horrible details from his mind and left it in the bloody past, it all came flooding back in one fell swoop.

"You're not supposed to be here, you know."

Spike recognized the voice, his back to her as his beautiful face formed a rather lazy grin. "Is that right?"

Anya Jenkins blew out a tired breath as she placed her hands on her hips, trying for the best glare she could muster. Her hair was once again dark from the usual shade of blonde she ordinarily wore, and her outfit consisted of a green cashmere sweater coupled with a thin, gray department windbreaker and a pair of black dress pants. "People are looking for you. Bad people. You're also wanted for the murder of your former girlfriend, but thanks to me, they still haven't found a way to make it stick yet. I've been through hell and back for you, and as your Captain, I should've relieved you of your position days ago. Besides, Lockley's clearly not in any position to fire you now, so that basically leaves it up to me. You should've said something about her, too, by the way."

"I only just found out myself, as it-"

"I'm actually not as dumb as I look," she continued, cutting him off, "which I suppose could be argued for a fairly lengthy amount of time in and of itself, but that's not why I'm here."

He slowly angled himself to face her and watched as she exited the room, permitting himself to follow her with a fair bit of reluctance before shutting the door behind them. "Then, pray tell, what _are_ you doing here?"

"I'm also nowhere near as bad as Xander makes me out to be, but I take it you've already heard his version of that stupid dinner story, so I'll move on to more pressing things that demand our attention right now. Captain things. Still with me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't think I ever left."

"I told Andrew I'd give him fifty bucks if he let me know where you were hanging out these days, and the pipsqueak cracked like an egg. You've probably already gotten wind of the mysterious disappearances, too, which brings me to why I needed to find you. These murders have everyone shook up pretty bad as it is, and it's just not getting any better out there. You and Xander have been there before. You know the drill. You've dealt with the weird cases masquerading as standard."

"So, what?" he drawled. "We're on special assignment now, is that it? What happened to the Feds honing in on it?"

"If you think this is bad with Kate, someone or something just took out four of her men when they went to check out that location. They were drained of all their blood. Add that to the tally we have already, and I'd say we've got a problem. Whoever's running this whole operation isn't fooling around anymore. I can't afford to lose any of our guys on this."

"Harris and I expendable then."

"Well, this could be my way of getting back at you for failing to tell me what's really going on, but I'm just going to have to take your word on it right now. The bottom line is, the ban isn't working anymore. With everything the media has started running, it's basically an all-points bulletin asking more to come out of hiding and challenge our authority. It's all falling apart. We could have even more trouble on our hands. It's like an invitation for the idiots that were never caught. Total chaos."

"Your man in question's more or less a conundrum of sorts," Spike managed. "The amount of women he's killed over the years would give a little bit's Christmas list a run for its money."

"We're not all model citizens, Spike. Some of us also barely get by on background checks that are largely composed of false information."

He only laughed. "Now we're gettin' somewhere."

"Look, I'm going try and say this nicely, so bear with me."

"Visiting hours are over, I'm afraid. But you can always stop by tomorrow." He just barely caught Buffy peeking around the corner as Marion addressed them and proceeded to shuffle into Kate's room carrying a stack of towels and an extra roll of toilet paper perched on top, leaving her cart at a standstill in the hallway. The door once again closed itself behind them, and he willed his attention back to his Captain, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned his rangy frame into the wall with a brief shake of his head.

"Bloody hell. There's a stipulation."

"Please don't tell me you didn't see this coming," she scoffed. "I take my orders from Snyder, Spike, and a lot of what's in your file is unfortunately an outright lie. He's already got the proof he needs to support his claims. You're to return the prisoner to her penitentiary of your own volition if you want to continue with this investigation in an official capacity. The same goes for Xander, as he's essentially an accomplice. If either of you fail in any way to comply, I've been ordered to strip you both of detective and confiscate your weapons. You'll also be taken into and will stay in our custody until you decide to agree to said demands. I've got two officers waiting on the ground floor to apprehend you. Her, too, because I know she's in here somewhere. I'll put the entire building on lockdown if I have to."

"Well, fancy that. And to think, I thought you were actually here on good faith 'cuz you trusted us. Shame on me."

"I know you weren't responsible for Harmony," she went on, "and whatever they took from your apartment will be returned to you at a later date. But in the meantime, you have a woman in your possession who's currently wanted for escaping police custody. For crying out loud, you helped her. That's not something Snyder takes lightly. It doesn't only affect you, it affects the integrity of the department. Don't make this worse. If you get bumped down to civilian again they're going to throw you in solitary."

"Let's get this straight," he mused, clenching his jaw a fraction too tightly. "You're all too willing to let the fact that I fibbed a bit on my résumé slide and call it a minor indiscretion if I help you combat whoever's putting a gap in the population. But Buffy Summers, an innocent bird who got a wrong conviction, has to go back into the system and subject herself to more abuse by the very same men who're a _part_ of upholding that sodding system. That's not justice, Jenkins, that's insanity. You're insane."

"I gave you a choice. It's only as difficult as you make it."

"Then be advised I've made it and refuse to agree to the department's terms. You want my weapon?" he countered, as he quickly pulled it out and handed it over to her. "Fine. Take it. I've got no qualms there. Never needed it anyway. No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally gettin' bewildered as to which may be true."

"I don't know what that means, but as of this moment, you're no longer with the Los Angeles Police Department in any capacity, and after a search of the premises, I'm going to have those two fine young men downstairs escort you to the precinct."

"That's good old Nathanial Hawthorne, pet. It means those of us who present ourselves only one way to the public and refuse to let others see the truth, probably aren't really living a life at all. See, it took me awhile, but I get it now. Like it or not," he informed her, as his blue eyes transformed into amber, "I'm bleeding tired of hiding it."

He could sense the fear in her the moment he shifted into game face, grabbing a hold of her arms before she could step away and gently urging her into the storage closet he'd spotted a few feet away, noting that her own eyes had very nearly fallen out of their sockets. "You're not human," she whispered.

"I'm not," he agreed. "Then again, not all of us are out there to hunt and kill and get our kicks from destroying innocent lives. You may not be convinced of it yet, but you need me- which is why you're gonna let me walk out of here like nothing's happened. I may have lost my rank, as it's entirely your call, but I'm actually late for an interrogation of my own. Best call off your boys and give 'em a push. I've been shot more times than I care to count, and I don't buggering desire havin' to pull another useless bullet out of my flesh."

"Who is this girl? I mean, really? Who is she? You're rejecting a damn good offer at her expense and I'd like to know why she has your motor revving. A year ago you would've rolled on somebody like her and personally escorted them back to the station yourself."

"She's his target. All of this has been for her. Robert's wife, Harm- even Joyce. It's all been for Buffy."

"And I suppose you're the creature from the black lagoon who's come to save the day?"

"Your heart rate's gone down a mite since I shoved you in here, so I'll take a stab at this and say you're finally gettin' a word picture here. 'Sides, the preferred term is _vampire_."

"Guess they're not just a thing of the past," she confirmed, shrugging. "Hey, does this mean you've been snacking on suspects before you bring them in, because I'm afraid that'll have to come out of your paycheck."

"Don't bite people." He donned his human visage again and studied her for a bit, curiously tilting his head to the side. "Look, I've got someone out there waitin' for me, and if we're good here, maybe you'll consider lettin' me go without calling in the cavalry. Tell Snyder I got away, whatever. The ball's in your court, although the LAPD's hardly above lyin', so you'd be the one chit who could make him buy it. I know you don't understand everything, and logically there's no reason why you should. But that girl out there wouldn't have fared any better in prison and you sodding know it. You're not daft and you've never been daft. You know I'm good at what I do."

"A little too good sometimes," she muttered. "You don't want to think the rumors you hear about what really goes on out there are true, but it all gets around, doesn't it? One minute you're dealing with simple magicks, and the next you've got this guy who slipped through your fingers without leaving bodies behind. Kendall's is still there, by the way. Whatever was used on the other one, wasn't used on her, but you didn't get that from me. I don't even really care that you're a vampire. Granted, it's not exactly something I see every day, but we're okay there. You've had plenty of chances to make me a meal."

"You had no intention of turnin' me in when you got here, did you?"

"Well," she professed, sighing a bit too dramatically. "I figured you wouldn't have taken off unless you had a really good excuse, and God help me for saying this, but this is a really good excuse. It's hard for me to stay mad at you because you're always so cute. So I gather the proper response in a time like this would be something like 'go get 'em tiger?' At least that's what I always hear those annoying newscasters say when they're talking about sports. Some of them are really long-winded, too. I sometimes sit there and wonder how much they get paid for doing something so boring."

"Tad off topic there, love."

"Yeah, okay, go. Get out of my hair and save the world." She hurriedly handed him back his weapon. "I honestly can't believe I just said that, let alone that I have a _vampire_ employed and working for me. But weirder things always somehow happen around here. I certainly haven't been oblivious to it, which I guess make your revelation not all that difficult to accept." She seemed to mull it over in her head awhile before she tugged on his jacket sleeve. "Just so we're clear, you didn't by any chance use any of that mind control crap on me, did you? Because I'd hate to be agreeing to this right now if I wasn't really agreeing to it. Understand where I'm coming from?"

"I do, and no. Not into that. I'd wager most vampires wouldn't give a bloody damn about thrall anymore. They don't need to do much to increase their numbers these days, so they just don't bother with it. I've always thought it went out of style."

"So just how old are you?" Anya prompted curiously. "George Washington old or more...Abe Lincoln old?"

"It's impolite to ask a man his age," he retorted simply.

"That usually only works for a woman, but I digress. Oh, and I'd advise using the fire escape if you want to avoid contact with the Boo Brothers a few floors down. I'll let Xander know if I need to reach you again."

Spike brought her close for a warm hug, planting a soft kiss on her temple before he let her go, his fingers grasping and lingering on her chin. "Stay safe, yeah?"

"Why do suppose it is that we never went out? I mean, you're good looking and I'm good looking and I think we could've been good looking together."

He chuckled and ruffled her hair a bit, much to her dismay. "Never saw you that way and to be perfectly frank, you're hardly a thing like my type. You'd also need to factor in your excessive use of hair dye and my living forever. Be tough for a fella to muddle through."

"Oh, and I'm sure you haven't gone through just as many bottles of bleach trying to keep that stupid style _you_ wear."

"Goodbye, Anya."

"That's Captain Anya," she corrected, smiling.

"My apologies," he stated, as he removed himself from the closet and gave her a wave. Rounding the corner, he'd forgotten all about a certain slayer struggling to eavesdrop and overhear his earlier conversation, just barely avoiding a collision with her. Grabbing her around the waist, he carefully steadied her so she wouldn't hit the ground.

"What was that all about?" she hissed. "You so better have a good explanation here, pal, because I just-"

She moaned when his mouth touched and caressed hers, sweeping her up in another one of those kisses that she found herself looking forward to more and more since the night they'd spent together in each other's arms. Buffy wasn't altogether proud of herself for conforming so easily to something that almost bordered on petty lust, but she knew that what they had was already way more than that. So much so that she didn't mind indulging just this once in a very public vicinity where she would've otherwise been too bashful to even try.

He cupped her cheeks after his lips left hers, holding her green gaze with his blue. "We really should put the bloody jealousy issue behind us already, Slayer, 'cuz that bint whose eyes you currently want to claw out just happens to be my boss."

"You call your boss a bint?"

"We have to move," he instructed her, bypassing the question. "Any vamps in our designated area will be prowling about the minute the sun goes down and we can't miss out on this."

"Then I guess we better start the improvising," she complied, nodding.

"Speaking of improvisin', we won't be able to use the front door to leave."

"Okay, please don't tell me you're gonna turn us both into little bats and we'll be flying out, because that'll really cap off the icing on the cake."

"No bats, ducks. Just me being resourceful and usin' the fire escape. You're of course welcome to join me, 'cuz I don't think you'd be all that popular if you try pleading your case to one of our resident uniforms down there. Bleeding silly to even risk it."

"But what about wiping the record? You told me that no one would know we're here. Dare I ask how your boss found out?"

"Andrew," he clarified, "which I fully intend to take up with the little ponce as soon as I see him again. And before you ask, Lockley'll be in good hands. Anya might be difficult, but she'll make sure she's taken care of. 'Sides, whoever did this to her won't try for her again, as the damage has already been done. It was another message, and when I find the son of a bitch who's responsible for it, he'll be gettin' a nice, thick stake through the heart."

"So you're not gonna wipe your record." Buffy matched his stride as she trailed him to the very end of the hall, watching as he began deactivating the locks that lined a set of double windows.

"To be honest, I don't sodding care anymore. This ends now, Buffy. We're going in fast and we're going in hard. If you don't feel prepared enough for that, you may as well just go and-"

"Hey, totally prepared girl here," she vouched, raising her hand. "All for killing something of the undead variety as long as it doesn't include you."

"Bully for you then. Welcome aboard."

"But how are we ever gonna find out where he even is?" she pressed. "I mean he's still got my mom and Willow and aside from a name and an estimation of all of the slayer murders he's committed in his unusually long lifetime, we don't have any sightings tying him to a specific location."

"I've got Lorne and Tara on that. She's also comfortable with suitin' you up with a bit of magic, too. Not too much, though, or it might compromise your ability to use the powers you already have. You'd basically be no better than Rack. As it stands, we don't have time for much beyond a few simple commands and incantations. Probably my one and only bloody regret in all this. But once we find his hidey hole, I'll make sure you're up to date on how he might come at us."

"Oh, because you've fought a lot of magicians hell bent on destroying slayers?" she quipped lightly.

"Not as of late, but as proficient as he is, we can't second guess things anymore." He glanced up and down the hall before backing up and abandoning the set of windows. "Expositus." Both of them flew open without another thought, a cool breeze gradually wafting through as it granted them safe passage outside. The color of the sky had lapsed into a shade of darker blue since they'd first arrived, and it indicated rather bluntly that dusk was rapidly approaching, giving the creatures who thrived on it free reign.

"You told me-"

"Bit of it left over from the coven," Spike assured her. "Nothing whatsoever to do with that bleeding spell Adlam put on me."

"You're upset about Kate, too. Like _really_ upset. You haven't- it's just...I can feel it. Whatever you're not saying, I can feel it."

"Is that right? Well, I was sure we'd already hashed that out, but by all means, go ahead and give it to me again."

"All right, you two. I think that's far enough. Put your hands on your head where I can see them and step away from the windows, please."

The uniformed officer couldn't have been more than mid-twenties at the most, his weapon clamped in both hands as he stood facing them with his legs far apart, his cap a bit too big for his cranium as it fell across his forehead and nearly obstructed his line of vision. A mop of curly red hair peaked out from beneath it, and alluded to a line of sweat that was slowly trickling its way down his neck, his eyes repetitiously blinking.

"Up for a bit of a jump, pet?"

She just looked at him.

The officer, on the other hand, was positively horrified at the implication. "Sir, I would highly advise against making any sudden movements. Hospital policy says I have to keep you here until I'm able to call in reinforcements."

"I'm a detective with the LAPD, you nit. Might be wise to put that thing down before you hurt yourself."

"Identification card?"

"Bollocks." Keeping his fingers in plain view to indicate he was wasn't reaching for anything other than what the officer had requested from him, he withdrew the small card and held it out to him. The man, whose nametag said Flanders on it, glancing from Spike to the card and back to Spike again, before he eventually took it, hesitantly pocketing his weapon while he ran the item through a miniscule device he retrieved from his belt loop. Reaching out, the vampire neatly clipped him right beneath his chin, waiting until the body dropped to the floor before grabbing Buffy's hand and urging her toward the fire escape. "Best hurry, Summers. Don't know how long that'll-"

She screamed as he was viciously thrust through the window, his head connecting with and bouncing off the side of the fire escape before he fell from all eight floors and crashed face first into the pavement of the parking lot below, his eyes closed as blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth.

He wasn't moving.


	29. Chapter 29: Knuckle Down

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Knuckle Down

6:57 PM

Buffy panicked.

Crouching down, she quickly pried the identification card free from the device the unconscious officer held in his hands and tucked it into the left pocket of her jeans, her fingers shaking as she glanced up and down the length of the long hallway- more than just a little surprised to find it entirely empty without anyone in sight. She'd felt something. She was sure of it. A feather light touch that had passed right through her before it had hurled itself straight at Spike and forcefully tossed him out of the window and to the ground below.

That was when it hit her.

The scream that had emerged from her mouth hadn't really been a scream at all. She'd been so completely paralyzed and overcome with fear, that she'd conditioned herself to believe she'd done it in the midst of her own shock. But no sound had ever really come out of her. She was supposed to be the all-powerful slayer and destroyer of evil and she'd stood there as helpless as the day Spike had gotten her out of prison, afraid of her own stupid shadow because she didn't yet know what she was capable of.

Spike.

He was still out there. When she'd watched him plummet towards the pavement at such an alarming speed, her entire heart had literally caught and froze in her chest. He lay there so broken, so still. It was all too fast. He'd been here one minute and gone the next.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy bravely moved to the window and began to draw her body up and over the stained glass sill, steadying herself as she reached out to grip the railing of the steel coated ladder. She propelled her feet onto the first step, and gradually began descending it floor by floor until she'd reached the bottom level, wiping her sweaty palms on her pants as she raced over to the vampire's motionless form that lay spread out beneath the pavement in the parking lot. She hurriedly knelt beside him, turning him over and cradling him in her arms, his blue eyes fluttering briefly as they struggled to focus on her face.

He had a nasty gash that lined his forehead and the blood from it had coursed over his right temple and scoured the length of his cheekbone, his bottom lip almost entirely busted and swollen. His jawline showed signs of visible bruising on either side, and the palms of his hands- which had likely tried to cushion the impact of the fall, were sporting a series of fairly shallow cuts. She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt as she began to pry each of them open, her fingers hesitantly starting to explore the firm planes of his chest to check for further damage while a trail of fresh, salty tears made the harrowing journey across her cheeks.

"Bleeding hell," he murmured. "Please tell me I'm not dead."

"That's probably never gonna get old," she commented offhandedly, laughing and giddy while clumsily swiping at her wet green eyes with her fingers. She planted a light kiss over his injured lips and ruffled his blonde hair, not even realizing the full extent to which she'd become entirely comfortable in showing her affection for him. "I guess it's a good thing you've been that way for quite a few decades now."

Spike looked up at her and awarded her the best lazy smile he could manage. "Mind telling me what your intentions were with my clothes then, love?"

"Duh," she muttered, utterly exasperated, "I was checking for injuries."

"In that case, feel free to check a bit lower if the occasion should arise."

Buffy picked up on the suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows and smacked him, bare chest and all. "I was worried. You were just...it looked bad, okay? I mean, yeah, I totally missed the part where it wouldn't have killed you with not being human and all, but I-"

"You care," he added. "Well, if it's any consolation, all that talk of shrugging off the pain before no longer applies. It buggering hurts and I'll be in a world of it 'til the healing kicks in. Wouldn't say no to a smoke right now- or possibly a nice stiff drink."

"Can you walk?" she questioned.

"Legs work just fine, as does everything else below the belt."

"You're unbelievable," she mused, propping him up and away from her while she got back on her feet. She then held out a hand to yank him to his, which he grasped and gratefully clasped in his own, feeling just the slightest bit turned on by slayer strength at its finest. But his bleeding urges were barely the issue when he'd just been thrown out a of hospital window by some invisible entity intent on toying with him. As he worked on re-buttoning his shirt, he watched her pick up his baseball cap with the department logo and place it back on his head, grabbing his nose between two fingers and giving it a tug. The cut on his forehead was already starting to dry up. "For the record, I'd appreciate it if you never did that to me again. Ever."

"Don't think it could've been helped, pet, 'cuz I'd wager someone out there's still got it in for me."

"Dare I say his name starts with an A?"

"First and last. Cloaked himself good, he did, but this is the git's work. Not along the lines of highly inventive by any means, but I reckon he wasn't at full throttle when he sent this one."

"But why would he come here? I know he can track us a hell of a lot easier than he used to, but why a hospital? Why do...it's Kate, isn't it?" she reasoned, as reality began to dawn on her. "It may not be Ashford's style, but it definitely sounds like we've got little doubt these new vamps are his guys now."

"Wants me right pissed when I come lookin' for him. Thought Rack's blood would mess me up worse than it did. Take me out of the running for awhile so I could get in touch with my inner demon on a more personal level."

"You're gonna go after them, aren't you? The vampires. That's why we're still meeting Xander and Giles."

"Yeah, 'cuz I figure a field trip's in order after we go fishing." He popped a dislocated shoulder back into place with little to no trouble at all, failing to notice the way she cringed. "Fancy taking in a bit of sightseeing and a little art, Slayer?"

"I think we should talk about why you won't ask me about my dreams," she suggested, giving him a rather peculiar glance. "Or rather, shall we say, my lack of them since the first one."

He just rolled his eyes, as he began heading in the direction of his car, not seeming to care whether or not she'd made the decision to keep up with him. "Maybe I should be askin' you how you suddenly know an awful lot about what I'm thinkin' lately. And don't give me that crap about how you can feel it, 'cuz we're not joined by a claim."

"I do feel it," she insisted, just as she had when they'd emerged from Kate's room, trailing behind him and essentially realizing he seemed to be trying hard to give her the brush off. Too hard. So much so that it actually struck her as oddly forced on his part and she didn't have any inkling as to why. It wasn't like him to start doing this again when they'd distinctly promised one another they'd be open and honest with each other. "You can't tell me you don't feel it, too."

"Well, that's just it, ain't it?"

"Spike."

"Sorry to disappoint, sweet bit, but I'm afraid I don't."

"Liar."

That stopped him in his tracks as he whirled on her and boxed her in between himself and the driver's side of the vehicle, his blue eyes honing in on hers as they met emerald green with a kind of challenge, hands settling themselves on the roof on either side of her. He heard her audibly gasp, and sensed her spine stiffening, her composure crumbling beneath the weight of his confrontation when she tensed just a fraction more. Every intention he'd had to rectify the situation came to a blinding halt when Buffy tilted her head up and gently placed her lips over his, calmly allowing her tongue to dance without reservation against his. Spike became oblivious to the wounds he'd sustained and instead chose to focus on the feel of her against him, beyond touched that she didn't find him hideously appalling after the damage he'd incurred had taken up temporary residence upon his elegant face. It thrilled him above all measure that she'd become so accepting in spite of her past and what she'd been through, reveling in the notion that he was partially responsible for it. He also knew he couldn't keep shoving her out of harm's way anymore, either. She was a quick thinker and almost always on her toes- and more importantly, she'd been with him every step of the way.

She slipped his identification card into the back of his jeans and gave his butt a teasing pat, breaking away to take in some much needed air. "Am I ever gonna get used to this?"

"Depends," he drawled. "Are you up for perfecting the technique a bit more behind that dumpster over there? Lots of privacy."

"Okay, you are utterly and completely repulsive sometimes, you know that? I don't care how good your kisses are, because I won't be letting you take me anywhere near that filth. Not to mention the God awful stench of yesterday's garbage. It's gross, Spike."

"It's electronic and it's automatically cleared out every two hours. They filter it through the pipes down below. It gets processed by way of the underground system and transported to a landfill."

"Gee, and that just sounds so much more appealing," she quipped.

"You, Summers, are a bloody tease. A good one, mind you, but a tease."

"Do you need to have a talk with little Spike? I could go grab a drink or something and-"

"_No_, and you're stayin' right here. I don't know if whatever magic that gormless ponce exercised on me is still in the sodding vicinity somewhere and we don't need you breakin' any bones."

"Not even my funny one?"

"Look," he told her, as he parted ways to the other side of the car and pried open the passenger side, "if Tara's ideas about all this are anything to abide by, we're more alike than different. It's not news, really, and she seemed to imply it happened last night. Well, technically early this morning after we-"

"Were intimate," she finished. "But you didn't claim me. You haven't bitten me since we were at my house."

"Yeah, well, take it for what you will, 'cuz I'm just as lost as you are. I feel something, but apparently I can't read you as well as you can me, so I haven't the foggiest what's going in."

She slid in and saw him do the same, fumbling to get the engine started. "Are you sure you don't want me to drive?"

He only creased his brow. "Can you?"

"Well, no, but I was actually in the process of trying to get my license before I-"

"Forget it," Spike cut her off, shaking his head. "Won't have you gettin' us into a bleeding accident before we get to where we're going. Need to be there in one piece with what I've got planned. You go and take the wheel and there's no telling what might happen."

"You should stop somewhere on the way and get your face cleaned up," she advised.

"Thanks for the tip," he retorted.

"And I'll have you know, mister, that one of these days I _will_ get that license and I'll be one of the best drivers you ever saw. You just wait and see."

"Good for you."

"You know, it's not like I can feel everything," Buffy sputtered, taking yet another detour back to their earlier discussion, her arms promptly folded over her chest. "Just...once in awhile, and believe me, it's not like I even asked for it to happen. I get that it scares you and everything, but we'll both just have to find a way to deal until we can get to the bottom of it."

He smiled, giving her knee a soft squeeze before inching his fingers up along her inner thigh. "Think we'll start by gettin' ourselves a better ride."

She was looking at him as if he'd just grown a third eye. "Okay, you lost me back at the better stuff. What's wrong with this one?"

"It won't start," he replied simply.

"It was fine when you drove it here," she pointed out.

"Right then." He climbed back out and gave the defunct automobile a kick in the side, putting a fairly large dent in its cheaply crafted composition. "In the most simplest of terms, Summers, I believe we've been magically sabotaged."

"Well, we can't just leave it here. If someone's still looking for us, they're gonna know. That guard upstairs is probably waking up right about now, and he's not feeling the love. If you need to do something, do it, because I won't be hauled out of here for assault when you're the one who clocked him."

"They'll get you on a lot more than assault, pigeon."

"The sign at the hospital entrance mentioned something about a bus coming through here a few times day. If there's one coming by soon, maybe we could try to catch it."

"And what? Not take a walk on the wild side?"

"This is where we really do part ways then. It's been fun and all, but some of us actually like to do things by the book sometimes, Detective Pratt. Besides, we still need to find Willow, and in case you forgot your watch when you came spiraling headfirst out of that window, we haven't got much time left because he's trying to put you out of commission and stall us. Remember that?"

He just frowned.

He was still frowning twenty minutes later as they sat side by side on a cramped bus full of approximately forty other people- most of who insisted on fidgeting or chattering endlessly for a bloody good part of the duration. Buffy had talked him into using the restroom at the fast food restaurant across the street from the hospital to clean up and luckily no one had made him before he'd left, his hat doing a pretty decent job of shielding his profile from the crowd that had chosen to dine in for the evening. The ride he was now currently enduring for her sake wasn't his preferred method, but it was getting them to where they needed to go and it was getting them there swiftly. Spike had found he'd vastly underestimated the petite elderly man who sat controlling the wheel, his back hunched over as if struggling to reach the pedals with feet as compact as his hands.

When his micro sounded, he glanced around and listened to the conversations already in progress, hoping his decision to take the call would blend seamlessly into the rest of it. "On our way now, Rupes."

"You're over half an hour late, William."

"Well as it so happens, I had a previous engagement."

"Previous engagement?" his mentor repeated, his voice laced with obvious confusion.

"Yeah, see, I've always wanted to take up sky diving and figured I'd practice a bit by throwin' myself out of a window eight floors up. Didn't have the desired effect I was hoping for."

"Oh dear. Are you both all right?"

"Bet you're gettin' tired of askin' that, aren't you?"

Giles heaved what sounded like a prolonged sigh. "Perhaps I should be asking what the two of you were doing on an eighth floor."

"Andrew called me about a report from a hospital in Long Beach. Turns out Kate Lockley was admitted there this morning after some couple found her unconscious and beaten. Good news is, she's still alive. The bad news? Vampires and amnesia. Had a little run-in with Captain Jenkins, too. But, you know, I haven't even asked you how the rest of your own day's been going. Dollars to bleeding donuts it's more eventful than mine."

"Yes, quite," he confirmed unexpectedly, barely taking note of the intended sarcasm. "Xander and I were able to trail two male vampires to an apartment complex less than a block away from Joyce's art gallery. I believe they may be two of the twenty-five that went missing. It may also be safe to assume that Adlam is offering them blood in exchange for their cooperation and services. He trains and feeds them and allows them to cohabit above ground if they wish. Once they go up, they claim a victim and begin to multiply. I dare say it's a brilliant strategy if it weren't so bloody underhanded."

"Bollocks," he whispered, shutting his eyes. "Probably should've checked into that whole bit with the gallery a mite sooner. Then again, you weren't exactly forthcoming with retaining sodding ownership now, were you?"

"Lorne was the one who clued the two of us in," Giles supplied. "He and Tara were able to track the apartment building, which was registered under the name Ford Malad. It's a fairly recent purchase, but according to the blueprints he sent Xander on his, um, holographic database, there's a sewer system that runs directly beneath and connects the two locations."

"Great. Just let me grab a guest for the party and we'll meet you there shortly."

"Guest?"

"Yeah, see, this one really lives for the night life and hates watchin' the sun come up. Think he'd say this might give him a change in perspective."

"Do be careful, William, and try not to get tangled up in something you might not forgive yourself for."

"I appreciate the concern, old man, but as of this very moment I could care less about making nice with the more recent additions to our locals." He ended the call and focused his attention on the man who sat five rows in front of them, clothed in a pair of blue mechanics overalls that complied with the updated regulations, his black hair pulled back into a long, thin ponytail. His attire reminded Spike of what the possessed bloke he'd handcuffed at Willy's might have worn when he wasn't off duty, his card stating he'd been currently employed at a shop called Bert's. Though it was doubtful the gentleman on the bus worked at the same exact establishment, there was still something about him that appeared off and set the vampire's nerves on edge. It had been a bleeding long time since he'd sensed one of his own within ten feet of him, but he just couldn't seem to shake him off his radar. When the same man suddenly got up for the line that was forming for the next stop, he grabbed a hold of Buffy's hand and urged her up and off her seat, guiding her in the same direction. He gauged it was no more than a few streets over from where they needed to be and decided it was a chance that just might pay off. It was also one he didn't mind taking at this point.

"What is it?" she asked him quietly, careful to keep her voice to a minimum in spite of the noise already filtering around them.

"Guy in navy," he informed her just as softly.

"The one in mega desperate need of a haircut?"

"Little more to it than that, love." He smiled then, watching as the bus grinded to a nice and even halt and the occupants began to filter out one by one, some stopping for a couple of extra seconds to leave a gracious tip for the driver. "Looks like we'll be gettin' off a tad early. Let's take advantage of the opportunity and go introduce ourselves, eh?"

"Does this mean I get to hurt him?"

"Depends."

"Oh what?"

"I know you're still new to the whole slaying game and all that rot, but when you've grown more accustomed to what you do and who you are, a vampire usually sticks out in a crowd. Kind of like havin' one of those flashy red bar signs over their heads. Get what I'm saying?"

"You're telling me I should just know. That he'll give me the tinglies like you do."

He stepped off with her and immediately careened her into the streetlamp behind them, careful to keep an eye on their target as his fingers grazed her chin and held it in place, his handsome face close to hers. "I would hope no other bloody creature of the night makes you tingly like I do, or I suspect we'll have a very large problem on our hands."

"Poor choice of words," she contended.

"Apology accepted."

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, mechanic guy with the bad eighties wannabe rocker hair isn't on my list of desirable vampires. There's only one spot there and it's already taken by a guy who had bad hair in the eighteen hundreds before he was turned."

"I'll let that slide," he admonished. "But keep in mind that you're not entirely out of the woods yet, Goldilocks."

"Catch potential vampire now, ponder and devise evil punishments for Buffy later."

"Sounds like a plan."

The city streets were visibly blanketed in darkness as they zeroed in on the man in blue at the next intersection, waiting patiently to cross while catching the attention of a tall, leggy blonde who was dressed in a pair of purple shorts and a gray tank top, clearly out for a leisurely evening jog after what was in all likelihood a long day of frustratingly tedious office work. She flashed him a big, white-toothed smile, and being the legitimate member of the male species that he was, he abandoned whatever route he'd had been mapping out for himself and opted to take a detour instead.

"Okay, starting to make with the wigging out and bad vibes now, because I get the impression he won't be asking her for her phone number."

"No invitation to dinner, either," Spike deadpanned.

She just shrugged. "Well, technically, she _is_ his dinner, so maybe they can compromise. But really- why do women like that always jog down deserted alleys? You'd think they'd at least have a big vicious dog with them or possibly some burly guy looking to make quarterback of a football team."

"Some of 'em think the ban keeps 'em safe. Truth of it is, the lives chits like her have built for themselves are anything but. Some just can't admit it 'cuz they love to savor the rush. Have to believe they're actually somebody in a city where there's a strong probability they'll never make it."

Buffy grabbed the sign that resided next to a quaint little Chinese restaurant, and effortlessly rid it of the poster board backing either side, yanking it free of the two wooden posts that held it. Breaking each one in half, she gave two makeshift stakes to him, while she kept two for herself. "Then let's go kick some ass."

"You're just a take charge and throw herself to the lions kind of girl tonight, aren't you? Don't think I've ever seen you this bold and laid back, Slayer. You also just destroyed public property and I may have to cite you."

"Raincheck?"

"Yeah, okay. This is more fun, anyway, and it's been a bleeding long while since I've had any. C'mon."

They passed by a holographic billboard ad above a shop that was trying to entice customers into buying a two for one special with promising them free tickets to the indie music artist of their choice looking to make it big at the local arena. In order to score said tickets, each person had to purchase items from the homemade pottery and jewelry present in the display cases facing the window. Talk about a lost art. The craftsmanship someone had to apply themselves to in order to create something of such value was a talent she deduced was rare in and of itself. Buffy immediately thought of Andrew and the dish Spike had stubbed his cigarette out in, wondering if she could persuade him to get the private investigator a couple of new ones after the mishap suffered in the basement.

It would have to wait, though. As they advanced further into the alley, her level of excitement increased tenfold when she saw that Spike was right. Whatever alarm bells had gone off and alerted him to the man's true nature had been correct. The subtle wave of uneasiness she'd felt course through her hadn't been for naught. She'd failed to experience anything like it when she'd been around Spike yet, and she secretly wondered if it had anything to do with the presence of his soul. She just somehow sensed that she was always safe with him, even when the side effects of Rack's spell had threatened to compromise everything.

The bones had already began to undergo the transformation and shift in the mechanic's face to accommodate for the change as he leaned toward the frightened woman who seemed to have caught the error in her mistake a little too late. If the idiot survived the encounter, Buffy figured she'd be much more careful of flirting with total strangers during daily jogs that were meant to relieve whatever stress she'd been stuck with after slaving away in a close quarters cubicle for eight hours straight. Wearing an outfit that left too much to the imagination would also be a start.

"Hey, didn't your mom ever tell you not to play with your food?"

Spike rose a strikingly amused brow at the jab, and beamed with what could only be described as pride, a faint smirk falling across his lips. "Might be in your best interest to hear what the lady here has to say, mate."

"Oh, I don't know," the woman sneered, as she slung an arm around blue uniform guy and suddenly vamped out herself, very nearly snagging an Emmy for her performance as a damsel who'd already been long past the point of distress. "I'm just so hungry and we did just what Master told us to. I don't see why we have to wait around for him anymore when we're doing just fine on our own. These two should be ours, Vinny. We won them fair and square. Angie would love this."

"Yeah, and _Angie_ isn't here, so we're supposed to wait for the others," Vinny told her. "It's too soon, Jo."

"He can still see so much, you know," she admitted then. "Our boss? But he wanted you to stop digging. Shouldn't be digging when he's not ready for you. But then you just had to go and find the pretty little Fed. He didn't like that very much. Angie did such a number on her, we didn't think she was gonna make it. Wasn't supposed to, anyway, because we all watched him have his fun. You should have heard her cry while taking it. Dumb bitch. Always snooping around and getting too close where she wasn't wanted. Guess she got what was coming to her, didn't she?"

"Couldn't agree more," Spike professed as he simply reached over and plunged one of his stakes into her heart with rapid quick reflexes, the shell that had previously housed her demon erupting into a thin sheen of ash.

"Joanne!" Vinny shouted. "Stupid son of a bitch cop. I'm going to-"

Spike merely grabbed him around his neck and shoved him into the brick that collided roughly with his back, tightening his grip somewhat and pausing to curiously tilt his head as he perused the shorter vampire in greater detail. "You'll do what, Vinny? Hmm? Just give me a sodding good reason, 'cuz what _I'd_ really love to do to you is let the slayer here waste you good and proper while I watch you buy it like your ninny of a girlfriend. Unfortunately, you've just been upgraded to bloody informant, so it looks like we'll be stuck with each other for at least another few hours 'til you give me what I want. Can't expect you and all your cronies to come and take over my city when the vacancy for gifted resident bloodsucker's already been filled now, can I?"

"You? You're just a neutered vamp whose dick's got a soft spot for slayers. Heard all about your story, man. You're a loser, capital L."

"What's in the apartment?" he responded as he squeezed even harder.

Vinny just chuckled, his amber eyes blazing. "Dream on, pretty boy, I ain't saying shit."

"Do try and mind your language in front of my girl, would you? Much as I want to and can't hurt you yet, she'll be begging me to by the time the night is out. Real stupid of you and your pathetic excuse for a honey to think you could take both of us out all by your lonesome when you've hardly become seasoned enough at the task. Exactly how long have you been enjoyin' the perks of the night life? Day at the most?"

"Well, see that's just it," Vinny affirmed. "You're the stupid one, dude. Just because I'm new at this, doesn't mean I came alone. Master's taught us well, and unlike you and your little skank, he doesn't take me for an idiot."

The report Giles had given him earlier had been a bit off the mark concerning how bad the threat had become, and as the twelve vampires began their decent down the alleyway and gradually initiated their transformations from human to demonic, Spike kept telling himself only one would suffice. If Vinny didn't want to get cozy and spill, he just have to narrow down the choices when he made physical contact.

He turned to Buffy, giving her a slight nod. "Remember, aim for the heart. Don't let go of either of your stakes, 'cuz you're gonna need 'em. If you can, keep a couple of 'em away from the pointy end of it. Doesn't matter who. Just make sure they're still alive when we're done, got it?"

"Um, I hate to break it to you again, but they're really not all that alive to begin-"

"You know what I mean. Save some for later, yeah?"

"I'll do my best." She didn't even bat an eyelash when she saw Spike shove a stake into Vinny's chest, his ashes following the same path Joanne's had. She surmised it probably brought a whole new meaning to 'til death do us part.

"Step on up, kiddies, don't be shy." Spike donned his own vampiric makeup and took his stance in the alleyway, grinning as the remaining vampires began to advance toward them. "Plenty of thrashings for all."


	30. Chapter 30: Weakest Link

A/N: Thanks again to esmejasper, TheBlueDragonWolf and Spuffygirl. I knew going into the fic that it wasn't going to appeal to everybody with this type of AU storyline, so it really means a lot that you guys continue to enjoy it. :)

Chapter Thirty: Weakest Link

_Alleyway_

8:12 PM

The first vamp that came at her was tall and oddly clumsy, wobbling more than he actually walked, prompting Buffy to bet good money he hadn't exactly excelled in suaveness when he was human, either. He appeared to lack just the right amount of poise to pull it off and she guessed he must've been laughs aplenty in high school. It had to be disorienting to claw out of a grave, makeshift or not, and she wondered if having a demon take over your body and resurrect its dead shell might also account for the fact that he looked as if he'd currently had one too many at the local bar. It was admittedly a new experience dealing with a bunch of recently bred vamps gone rogue, but she suspected whoever or whatever Ashford had on his payroll would only make more of them once these were dearly departed. The greater their numbers became, the more superfluous they'd be. She supposed that was probably part of the reason for the army, and unless they were bold and brazen like the late Jo was, it was likely they'd want to rough her up a bit and take her alive. The intent was still there to kill and feed, but that's what the unsuspecting victim clause was for, and she had no doubt it was thoroughly put to good use.

When Clunky Tom stumbled in to invade her personal space, she brought the heel of her palm up and shoved it as hard as she could into his nose, knocking him off balance and delivering a swift roundhouse kick to his midsection. The vampire began madly clawing the air with his fingers, vying for purchase as he struggled to reach her, his head whipping back and forth rather mechanically while he tried to ward off the possibility that he was headed straight for twinkly stars territory- or possibly those little birds in the cartoons whenever a character miraculously survived an anvil dropping on them. Buffy merely smiled as she saw her window of opportunity present itself, ramming one of her stakes straight home and putting the remainder of her momentum into finishing him off with another good, hard kick. As he exploded into ash, she merely reached out a hand and caught the stake as it fell, proving that her super human reflexes were apparently all they were cracked up to be.

She decided being out in the field and fighting the real thing was already miles ahead of any holographic game scenario.

"One point for the slayer," she murmured, "and the vamps have yet to score." Off to her right, she watched with interest as Spike staked a pair of vamps and finished them off in quick succession, both having hurtled toward him at once. Taking out a third, he brutally smashed him headfirst into the nearby dumpster before introducing him to the same fate the two before him had endured. She'd seen him in action back at Willy's, but the way in which he was presently taking out their aggressors without even breaking a sweat had her feeling a bit of envy and awe at his skill. Did vampires even sweat? She mentally made a note to look into it, and dutifully reminded herself that he'd also been at this a lot longer than she had. Of course, from everything she'd heard, vampires weren't exactly overflowing in number the last few years, either- much less before that.

But as lucky as she'd just gotten with Clunky Guy, she wasn't prepared for the cold fingers that suddenly clamped themselves around her neck, or the excruciating pain that caused her abdomen to throb and flare when two more vamps moved in and attempted to subdue her. The neck grabber was a girl who didn't look any older than her teens, her blonde hair short and cut to a style that came to rest just above her chin, her amber eyes glowing as she pulled her mouth back in a vicious growl, her nails digging in so hard she drew blood. The boy that was with her didn't look much older, and Buffy wondered if they may have been turned together as siblings. It was awfully hard to distinguish in their demonic makeup, but it seemed too coincidental a theory to pass up.

Gritting her teeth, she managed to yank herself from the agonizing grip and get a decent hold on the second stake she'd planted in the left pocket of her jeans, plunging it straight through the boy's back from a rather awkward angle, while simultaneously giving him a solid blow to his groin. He quickly evaporated into a million tiny particles of nothingness, and without even waiting for the powdery remains to settle, the slayer walked straight through them and turned to the girl she presumed was his sister. The young woman backed off a bit, clearly startled by what just became of whatever the boy had been to her, and Buffy could have sworn she sensed fear in her eyes.

"C'mon," the slayer urged. "Show me what you've got."

The girl was tough, she'd give her that. Spike's words echoed in her head about keeping a couple of them alive, and she figured this one probably fit that bill really well. She was an amateur, but she was determined. Whether or not she was willing to cooperate and not reach the end of Mr. Pointy was another matter altogether. Buffy blocked the punch hurtling at her with her forearm, but her back met the pavement with a loud crack when her feet were knocked out from under her, destroying her concentration as she took a hell of a tumble. The teen wasted no time diving in for the kill as she sank her fangs into Buffy's neck, getting in one long pull before she was roughly thrown off and tossed onto the ground, a stake careening through her heart seconds later as she vanished into dust.

When a hand reached out for her, she clung to it for dear life, allowing a very perturbed peroxide blonde to pull her to her feet, her brain still somewhat disoriented from the blood loss. She noticed for the first time that they were entirely alone in the alleyway, the fingers of his right hand gingerly cupping the left side of her face while he cleaned her wound with his tongue, lapping up the sanguine fluid that ran the length of her neck. She felt her breath catch and leaned further into him, strangely touched by the gesture and closing her eyes as she allowed him the simple pleasure.

"Better?" he asked her softly.

"Yeah." She hesitantly reached out and touched the mark, surprised to find it was already healing.

"Bloody great to hear it. I'm just wondering what part of what I said earlier got a bit lost in the scuffle. You're still not where you should be and these aren't even seasoned vamps."

"Spike-"

"Made short work of the majority of 'em," he continued, "but the rest got away. Wager I was being a tad too literal with my threats. If you'd stayed alert and focused like I showed you, that never would've been an issue. You're too self-assured. Let her get the best of you way too early in the game. Got a taste of you for your troubles, too."

"I don't think they wanted to kill me. If anything, they-"

"You can't know that," he advised. " 'Sides, the original plan's shot to bleeding hell now, anyway. We don't have an informant and I'd be willing to bet there's a nest in that apartment none of 'em wanted to shed any sodding light on as well. Can't go chargin' in just yet, 'cuz we don't exactly have a proper head count."

"Look, I get that you're mad at me, and I don't blame you, but maybe there's another way. I mean, wh...what about the art gallery? There's that yet, right?"

"What about it?" he threw back, mostly unfazed.

"That was our last resort. What if there's something there?"

"Rupert did say it was near the apartment," he conceded, shrugging. "S'pose it could still be worth a gander, but I won't be gettin' my hopes up."

"My mom's art was missing from the house. That's not just-"

"Now that we've established your mum is still alive, pet, it's highly probable that art is with her. Thought we deduced that back at the house. I can't see him tryin' to return it to the gallery when it's hardly worth the trouble. Wouldn't have taken it from the house if he hadn't intended to do something with it."

"Well, I guess that caps it, doesn't it?" she clarified, rolling her eyes. "Wow, you just have an answer for everything."

He heaved a useless sigh as he shook his head. "More or less at a crossroads right now, so you'll have to excuse my bluntness."

"Crossroads?" she repeated curiously, pretty much baffled by the statement.

"Fight got me a tad revved up. Bloody torn between shagging you right here in the alleyway or kickin' a little more demon ass. Might need to pick one so I can just be done with it."

She blushed a wicked shade of pink as she practically gawked at him, her emerald eyes widening. "Are you trying to tell me that fighting, the...kind of fighting we just did here tonight with all the- turns you on?"

"Yeah, all right, when you put it like that it's not nearly as romantic as one of your trashy girly books, but you can't stand there and tell me it isn't the same for you. It's in a slayer's buggering genetic code for God's sake."

"What, getting hot and horny after a few kills?"

"It's not as uncommon as you might think," he persisted. "You're still relatively new at it, but eventually you'll start to crave it."

"Hate to tell you this, Don Juan, but what I felt after staking two of them was an intense amount of relief that they wouldn't be piercing my skin with their nasty razor sharp teeth the way that stupid teenage twit did. So, really, when it comes down to it, maybe we shouldn't be focusing all that much on making certain parts of our anatomy happy, and more about how this king of the dirtbags keeps trying to weaken my entire support system. First Willow and then Kate- and did you forget you just took a nasty header out of a window only a couple of hours ago? It's not like we even learned much at the hospital anyway. Any one of those jerks could've attacked her. Maybe _more_ than one. The bottom line is, we don't know."

"So you need to make a statement, is that it?" he taunted. "Show him you're the meanest slayer to end all slayers 'cuz he missed out on you seven years ago? Thought we already agreed we wouldn't do anything rash."

"That's not what I-"

"No? Then by all means, explain it to me then."

"You were the one who was set on taking vampire hostages and forcing the truth out of them. I just want to find out where my mom and Willow are and end this thing. This was a distraction."

"Is that right? Well, I guess you're all prepared to run into battle with the rest of us and try and do as much of a bang up job as you did out here tonight. Little Miss Knock Your Socks Off is at it again. Like it or not, Slayer, if I hadn't come along when I did, you'd be lyin' there dead and in a pool of your own blood. You still need me just as much as I need you, and you're nowhere near as qualified as you think you are to take this ponce on. You don't have the resources yet."

"You're bent, you know that?"

"I don't fancy a fight with you, love. We're already beyond late in catchin' up with Rupes and Harris, and at this rate the rest of the vamps have long since vacated the premises. I suspect the ones that fled are already hightailing it back to the apartment right this very minute."

"Fine. Let's go."

"Are you sure you're up for this?"

"It doesn't really matter," she offered plainly, all business. "It might be the only lead we have and we've gotta jump on it, right? Follow the path?"

"We can hail a cab from here. Shouldn't be too bad of a drive, and if we're lucky we can beat 'em there."

She complied and followed him out to the main stretch of road, waiting as patiently as she could while he pinned down a taxi willing to take them to the location in question, informing him that there was extra cash involved in the deal if the man could get them there in less than five minutes. The driver easily agreed to the task when he saw just how much Spike had in mind for the duration of the trip, releasing the lock mechanism on the door and inviting the two of them inside. From there, he programmed in the safest and quickest route on the small touchpad in the dashboard and verbally instructed the vehicle to take it as he took his foot off the pedal and allowed it to guide them.

A small man in his late sixties with curly, snow white hair, his brown were eyes warm and friendly, his attire consisting of a simple plaid button down shirt and a pair of khaki's. Several photographs of what appeared to be children and grandchildren were pinned to the flap above his head, choosing to openly display them in an old fashioned manner as opposed to the holographic advances that had edged out both paper and digital. The nameplate that hung from the rearview mirror indicated his name was Aaron. "Say, isn't that about where those people went missing? Heard about it on the news. Wife says they're not enforcing the ban like they should be. Heaven knows what was done to them."

"Sounds pretty bad," Buffy agreed, playing along. "But we're actually meeting a few friends for dinner in the area, so..."

"You kids be careful," he advised. "It's not safe out there anymore. Those murders have got everyone up in arms, too. People want answers and I can't say I blame them. You live in a city like this, you expect it to be safe. Suddenly you're dealing with some sicko who enjoys killing young women and dressing up in costumes to do it. They said he looked like Merlin the magician when he killed Mr. Hart's lady. A tragedy is what it is. He's mocking the men in power who've tried to protect us. Normally I screen identification cards through the slot in the front before I let anyone in, but you two looked okay. Got a few scrapes on you, so I figured you were running from something."

"Couple blokes ambushed us in the alleyway just around the corner," Spike added, glancing out a window adorned with various smudge marks as he watched the night begin to pass them by.

"Probably wanted money. It's always money."

"Bit ballsy askin' for money these days with all the chaos surrounding the ban," he pointed out. "Assault the wrong guy and it's all over."

"Guess you're right. Still, it really is a shame with what happened to those women."

The rest of the ride was executed in silence, with the car eventually meeting its destination and making its way to the curb a short time later, successfully acknowledging the coordinates Aaron had plugged in. Spike made good on his promise and even ended up giving him an additional ten on account of the effort the elderly man had made to engage in pleasant conversation- which was usually hailed as a rarity among the majority of cab drivers within the general vicinity. Waiting for Buffy to exit, he promptly shut the door behind her and led her onto the sidewalk, waiting until the cab had driven away. The apartment was directly across the street from them now and only a short walk away.

"That was really sweet of you."

"Sweet?" he echoed, mortified. "Consider yourself lucky he didn't catch the news feed with our photos on it, or we might've been caught between a rock and a hard place. Probably too dark for him to really see anything. Between him and the lovely Nurse Marion, we've had ourselves a couple of close calls."

"I was _talking_ about giving him a little more than you settled on," she ascertained. "It's nothing to be ashamed of or anything. Most people wouldn't think twice about getting out and just paying the standard fare. You went above and beyond and should be proud of yourself."

"Bugger that. Harris thinks I've already gone soft enough as it is, and you've just given him more ammunition to egg me on. I'd choose your words very carefully from here on out."

"And Xander thanks you," the man in question countered, "but it's really not necessary. I've got stuff on him to last me a lifetime."

They both turned around to see the brunette with Giles in tow, the latter with a pair of what appeared to be odd shaped binoculars strung around his neck. Noticing the interest the object had garnered since he and Xander had spotted the two of them, Giles pulled it off and held it out for a more thorough inspection. "It was, um, crafted to determine the number of heat signatures inside a building. It comes from the evidence room at the precinct. Rather…old school, as I'm told."

"Bollocks, you sodding stole it?"

"Did I say steal?" Xander retorted. "Nobody's saying steal here. No stealing. It was done for the good of the group. Besides, I've had it since the Randall case five months ago. Just...forgot to return it, is all."

"Andrew can run circles around that hunk of junk."

"Thank you, I'm elated."

"Look, what've you got for me? And don't say nothing, Harris, 'cuz the lengths we went through to get here tonight are far more-"

"He was thrown out of a window and then some vamps attacked us," Buffy vouched. "But I think you probably knew about the window thing, so we'll just attempt to move on from that."

"Let's," Spike insisted, shooting her a glare. "Now what's the story?"

"We've seen them enter," Giles answered, "and it's probable there could very well be a rear exit of some sort that leads below ground, but as of yet, we haven't seen any of them leaving. I've counted a total of nine inside."

"Great. Fetch me a carton of gasoline and some matches. Kind we used to have before the ban made 'em obsolete."

Xander frowned, regretfully shaking his head. "Hate to tell you this, buddy, but in this area those are awfully hard to come by. You can't just waltz in anywhere around here and take them- cop or no cop. Some of the pawn shops usually have them in storage in the back, but you won't find anything in your typical mini mart."

"We can use what's left in my tank," Giles stated. "I've an empty...container of sorts in the trunk. Best we don't alert any of the chaps manning the nearest gas station to our plan, as I suspect engaging in this particular practice goes against every regulation I've had the displeasure of being aware of. On that note, I've a set of matches handy in the glove compartment that I've used for the casting of basic spells a time or two. They're not exactly what you're looking for, I'm afraid, and it may take some time to get them started. Apparently, the ones you're in search of have received a much more severe punishment in the name of witchcraft." He headed off in the other direction, gravitating steadily toward an empty car lot that sat near an abandoned grocery store which hadn't seen its share of better days and business in about fifteen years.

"Whoa, okay," Buffy interjected, the shock in her voice fairly evident. "Please tell me you're not gonna do what I think you're gonna do, because this so wasn't part of _that_ plan. We need to talk about this."

Spike just bestowed her with a clever grin. It was the kind that nothing good ever came from. "Hashed this out at the hospital, love, and as fate would have it, I'm buggering through with messin' around. Like it or not, it's time to bring out the big guns. He won't try to hurt Red 'til he knows he has you, so whatever minions he's got workin' for him out here are only casualties. 'Sides, we'll just consider this a going away present for that unpleasant window drop. Tit for tat."

"Uh, hello, _gallery_? If we draw too much attention to ourselves tonight, the cops who aren't you guys will do the math and it'll be the first place they look. I know your boss isn't convinced you killed your ex-girlfriend anymore, but the people she answers to aren't as forgiving. They'll know we're involved, and I'm not prepared to give up my freedom yet. You-"

"Yeah, and Willow's out there somewhere all by herself and currently breathing the same air as this freak of nature," Xander cut in. "So your petty concerns be damned, I'm all for sending him a party favor and having it go up in a little smoke. The gallery is the least of our priorities right now. What does art have to do with whether or not Snyder knows what we've been up to, anyway? The apartment complex is under our guy's name and there's no trail leading back to us. We're home free, so I say light it up and burn the bastards."

"Been doing my fair share of thinkin' about the art," Spike professed as he glanced at the building in front of them, his mind seemingly elsewhere. "The bodies were always laid out to make us sodding aware of the fact, too. He still considered these his finest moments, his masterpieces. A painting or a sketch might not hold the same value to him, but it holds that kind of value to Joyce. He'd know that and remember it. Lockley's profile said he went above and beyond his duty tryin' to learn his victims' habits."

"Yeah, and now really isn't the time for analyzing a murderer, Pratt."

"I understand you've got your knickers in a knot 'cuz your girl just became his latest pet project, but this isn't just about magic anymore, Harris. We lost our shot at gettin' one of those wankers to talk in the alley and we still haven't the faintest clue where he's set up shop."

"So what's your point? It's not like he won't have more of them running around. Just torch the joint and go. "

"The tunnels below us connect the two locations for easy access during daylight hours, which means they won't have to go out through the door of the complex to get to where they're bleeding going. In, out, and nobody notices 'em."

"Except why would they bother going back and forth from the apartments to the art gallery?" Xander reasoned. "I doubt a vamp sits there all day in deep thought contemplating the talent of our generation. He'd much rather widen his horizons and feed on a college chick before he goes and calls it a day."

"Spike thinks Adlam's headquarters are underground," Buffy said quietly. "It makes sense, right? They don't monitor it like they do what's above ground. It's the fastest escape route if you're trying to escape persecution from the ban."

"They've got sensors," Xander managed. "Lots of them. I don't know if most still work anymore, but it's supposed to alert them to any illegal or suspicious activity down there. Granted, this pile of garbage could bypass it easy-peasy if he used his hocus pocus stuff on the security, but why would he want to be caught in filth when he thinks he's pretty much above living like a pauper now? He'd want somewhere he thinks he's worthy of. Somewhere with money. The sewers wouldn't give him that."

"Careful, whelp, you might've actually graduated into a real boy."

"Shut up, Pratt. And just for the record, I brushed up on my evil fiend reading since they grabbed Willow, okay? Giles had some volumes at his place and let me borrow them. Went over some pretty interesting pages during our little stakeout, so I think I should at least get some kind of award for being the new historic badass on the scene."

"Good on you, mate."

"I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not, but thank you."

Giles returned with a big plastic water bottle and a small box in tow, setting both down at his feet while he fished through his jacket pockets and retrieved a tube of mints, hastily popping one inside his mouth to rid himself of the rather potent taste of gasoline and actively savoring the more appealing flavor. He removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose and hung them on the front of his shirt, reaching over and reclaiming the items below. "Shall we?"

"We shall," Spike confirmed, as he followed his mentor across the street, glancing at Buffy one last time before he strode up to the front entrance and began dumping the contents inside the large bottle along the steps in front of the doorway and eventually worked himself around the entire perimeter. He then held out a hand and waited as Giles handed him two of the matches, risking the discomfort involved as he scraped one roughly against the pad of his thumb, just barely setting it ablaze as a withering spark took shape.

"You mean to draw them out, don't you? This was never about simply sending a message."

"There's nothing going on here but an undead gathering. They're nesting. They may not be able to lead us to where we need to go, but with a little incentive they can point us to where we need to look."

"If I didn't know better, I'd be tempted to call your soul into question."

"Soul's fine, and this is awfully good for it. Therapeutic, even. Adlam worked his mojo on Rack, who in turn worked it on me and tainted my blood. Gave me his own idea of a bloody mind warp. It's not something a bloke just forgets."

"No, I imagine it wouldn't be. William, if it's any- I'm truly sorry for the way I behaved earlier. As it stands, there's just so much of this that's truly baffling to me, and it's taken awhile to fully comprehend where that comes from. I shouldn't have gone and taken my insecurities out on you when you've tried your best to see this through and look after that girl. She depends upon you more than you know. I believe she undermines her own powers in terms of what they've given her because she's scared of what she sees inside herself. She's been blessed with an important gift and she must stop running from it if she expects to beat this. If you _both_ expect to beat this." He placed a hand upon the detective's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. "If you do this, there's likely no coming back from it."

"I know," he corroborated, as if it were nothing more than a simple decision on behalf of both parties, nonchalantly letting go of the match he ignited and grabbing the record keeper's sleeve to shove him out of harm's way. "Now move."

The orange and yellow flames lit up the darkened street and began to gradually consume the building as they spread, swiftly bathing the front door and inching their way up to the boarded windows of the ground floor. The rather faint sound of fire engines could be heard in the distance, their shrill but insistent sirens bringing noise and disrupting the previous state of calm in an otherwise peaceful neighborhood. Spike figured one of the residents on the verge of retiring to their beddy bye for the night must've called it in and been frantic enough to warrant the undivided attention brought to the matter. Whether or not they could give the authorities a solid description of the perpetrators was another story altogether, as the nearest house was much farther down. When a flash of movement captured his attention to his left, he rapidly stepped up and enclosed his hands over a ratty white t-shirt and caught the vampire entirely off guard, forcing him face down into the dirt while opting for his set of electronic handcuffs. He rarely used them, despite an occasion calling for it, and much preferred the design that catered to the older and more outdated specifications. He'd only retained the newer model on account of Anya's insane bickering when he'd first joined the department. He normally just folded them up and stored them compactly in his possession on a daily basis, but was generally more opposed to the idea than anything else.

Now, he mostly thanked whatever stars were out tonight that he hadn't been a complete git about it.

"Stand up," he commanded, hauling the bloodsucker to his feet and turning him around to face him, the man's demonic visage giving way to his human countenance.

"Hey, what's the deal, dude? Rent's all paid for."

"Is it now?" Spike taunted, as he pulled harder on the restraints and started shoving him towards the street. "Still got some gas in that car of yours?"

Giles nodded. "I'll fetch it and pull it around."

"This nit and I are gonna go for a bit of a drive, see if he actually wants to talk. We'll all hit the gallery at first light."

"You're leaving me here?" Buffy sputtered. "You can't just make this-"

"Harris, see that she gets back to the cottage. Stay with her if you want. Just make sure you keep her safe."

"Got it," his partner amended. "You better hope geek boy there will do you proud and wants to talk, because I'm about ready to force it out of him myself."

"You can't force me to do nothin'," their new prisoner snapped. "I got my rights, man. I'm a Los Angeles born citizen."

"Hate to break this to you, you sorry sod, but creatures of the night no longer have rights. You may have been born here, but you also died here. Whatever organs you've got up in there are no longer doing their job. You're no more than a detriment to their pathetic failure of a legal system. Ask nicely, and maybe I'll take pity on you and kill you quick when I'm done with you. If not, we'll just take a page of Angelus' book and go a bit slower. I'm usually not up for the whole torture aspect, 'cuz I don't like to get dirty and the room takes a hell of a bleeding long time to clean. Never really had it in me. A good, old brawl is much more fun. But keep it up and I might consider making an exception for you."

"You know Angelus?"

Spike rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Yeah, ran with the poofter back in the day. What of it?"

"You must be William then. Heard you failed to grow a pair and were running with the slayer now."

He froze, clenching his jaw a little too tightly, his body tensing as he slammed the vampire to the ground, standing over him with a glance that flashed from amber to blue and back to amber again. "Who wants to know?"

"Nobody. It's just...the crazy chick. She's lost her marbles, man. Talks about you day in and day out like you're some kind of second coming. The boss tells him to keep her quiet, but she doesn't listen. She just keeps ranting and raving until Angelus gives it to her good and hard to get her to shut up. She likes that. Real screamer, too. Me and the boys hear all the action loud and clear in there."

"_Where_?"

"Where what?"

"Bollocks. The location. I need a location."

"They're here. In the city," he attested. "Well, not here, as in right here, because they're always busy with that other guy. The one that tells them what they have to do. He's a real buzz kill."

"Too high to remember, were you?"

The vampire giggled. "I don't know why you even care. Word has it they just want the slayer. The boss might even give her to Angelus first to hit her where it hurts. She'll be nice and sore before he hands her off and she gets it all over again. They'll pass her around like the rag doll she is."

Spike withdrew the second match from the pocket of his jeans and lit it the same way he did with the first. "Where?" he queried again, his tone low and almost incomprehensible.

"You go down and turn it all around. Then he takes you through this door. Got some snazzy little pics on display that would fetch a damn good buck, too. You see them before they let you in. Thought about taking one to see how much I could get."

"Name. Of the place."

"There isn't one."

"Well," he considered, "I guess you've certainly proven your worth to me then, haven't you?"

"Yeah, okay, what do I get?"

"Wasn't really lyin' about a quick death." Spike dropped the match and watched as the vampire's eyes nearly bulged out of his head, yelling at the top of his lungs as he began to char and deteriorate, his body writhing in agony.

"Spike-"

"Not now, Buffy." The first fire engine was pulling up just as Giles parked his car against the curb. The slayer only nodded, advancing ahead of him as she made her way to the vehicle. Leaning over the open window, she mumbled something out of range, and spotted Xander getting into the passenger seat. Helping herself to the back on the driver's side, she threw a wistful look Spike's way, noting that he'd already covered half the sidewalk on the barren street about to be invaded by a conglomeration of red and blue lights, his hands tucked away into his jeans as he kept his head low to the ground and persisted forward.

She'd give him the time he needed, she decided, and then she was going to get more answers.


	31. Chapter 31: No Place Like Home

Note: I only just finished chapter 32 to this fic yesterday afternoon, so after that, the updates will likely decrease to once a week. I'm usually fairly consistent with completing one new chapter each week.

Chapter Thirty-One: No Place Like Home

11:16 PM

"You've been holding out on me."

Tara Maclay glanced up at the green demon who sat perusing the contents of a book he'd snatched from her shelf fifteen minutes ago, thoroughly engrossed in the material present inside his discovery, his equally green fingers flipping wildly through the pages. Her pretty face barely managed to conceal a smile over his obvious excitement as she carefully added the last of her ingredients to the spell she was preparing, her index finger trailing itself down the holographic list she'd composed to double check and take note of the required items. "Holding out?"

"This one's actually pretty decent for your basic conjuring," Lorne informed her. "You might want to think about slipping it to a certain bleached blonde vampire who's probably in dire need of it right now. Especially if the latest gossip from his detective partner is anything to be worried about."

"You mean the news about Angelus being in town," she volunteered.

"His crazy ex, too. One of the hired help opened his pie hole after Spike got his hands on him, and now it looks like he's gone off to find himself again. The trials and tribulations of being undead, right? They've got history, those three, so this isn't gonna be easy on him. Of course, he probably has us to thank for that now, because we're the ones that found that God awful place and led him straight to it. Here we were just doing our jobs and the poor guy's a mess."

"Don't say that," Tara admonished, as she patiently watched her spell perform its magic, a harmless, bright yellow glow swirling around her before it hovered directly over a location on the map of the city spread out in the middle of the table. She edged herself out of her chair and leaned over it to study the results, her blue eyes widening. "According to this, Buffy's still at the cottage, so at least we know she didn't leave to go out and look for him. I'm getting the faintest read on Spike, too, and he's supposed to be red here. His presence isn't as strong, because I can just barely make it out. All it's telling me is that he's within walking distance and could be on his way back to her."

"You're a gem, Miss Maclay. Has anybody ever told you that?"

She blushed shyly as she sat back down, waving a hand over the glow to withdraw and erase her ingredient list with a snap of her fingers. "I wish I could do more to help, but just when I think I've got this Adlam person you're looking for, his whereabouts get bounced all over the place. He's really good and really powerful. It's like a magnet or something. It always comes back to the same place."

"The art gallery."

"Which is odd," she continued, "because there's nothing that's indicating to me that he's actually been there. But if you say they'll be checking it out tomorrow, maybe it would be best to go in well prepared. You know, just in case."

"So if the reading to the gallery's not exactly a demonic hot spot, is it possible it might be a portal to one?"

She raised a brow, as she allowed herself to scan the map again, her gaze riddled with the slightest bit of confusion. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I didn't want to be speaking from personal experience," he retorted somewhat sarcastically, "as I have some memories I'd rather squash like a bug in order to take full advantage of the benefits of my music loving existence, but it's not entirely out of the question for the gateway to a portal to be right in front of you, is it? Wherever it appears may not hold any kind of significance, but a simple incantation would do the trick to get it to show itself. See where I'm coming from?"

She nodded. "Yeah, except I've never tried to summon anything like that before. If what you said is true about the importance of this gallery and Buffy's mom owning it at one point, there's the possibility that it's nothing more than a fluke if your guess pans out. The connection might just be to her, and portals can be extremely random as to where they pop up. Clever, too, because it would mean he was never on this plane to begin with. That he's conducted his affairs elsewhere but passes between worlds when he needs to. The apartment was just a vampire nest, so nothing new there."

"You catch on quick, my little wallflower. Looks like we'll be browsing your collection for a very different kind of book."

"One with dark magicks," Tara stated quietly. "I-I've already told Spike I'm not sure how I feel about doing that, and even if it works, there's always consequences involved with something so volatile. There's no telling what might happen once you pass through it."

"Well, if it's anything like my hometown of good old Pylea, I think I know exactly what to expect."

"Pylea," she murmured. "I've heard of that dimension. The demons are pretty much dominant there if what I've read is correct. Humans are essentially no more than slaves."

"Right you are," Lorne confirmed, "which is why I don't plan on taking a vacation under two suns anytime soon. Besides, the color of my skin makes it literally impossible to tan. Some of us actually like it here in dysfunctional Los Angeles even though our species is outlawed by the dozen."

"A priest at the church here might be able to assist us," she suggested. "Father O'Carroll. I've known him since I was a little girl. I don't attend mass anymore, but my dad's friend was telling me O'Carroll lost it at the one last Sunday, because he was urging everyone to pray for the sinners and kept saying something bad was coming. I didn't really make too much of it, because I...well, he's kind of old now and his frame of mind just isn't what it used to be. But after Spike called me and left that message, I have to admit I wondered. The balance isn't what it was. If Adlam's really biding his time between worlds, he may be weakening one while making the other stronger."

"He pulled a warlock out of prison," Lorne informed her. "So I'd say he's well on his way to entering apocalyptic territory if he doesn't get what he wants. The popular vote is that his powers are definitely growing."

"What he wants is still Buffy, because she's a slayer."

"You got it."

"I have a book," she admitted then. "I keep it under lock and key, but I'd be hesitant about using it- let alone bringing it out into the open to begin with."

"A grimoire."

"More or less. It's...I really think we should talk to Father O'Carroll first, though. He's usually pretty good about offering a word to the wise with this kind of thing. I've consulted him on basic spells in the past. He's very much still a man of the cloth at heart, but he's been dealing with mystical forces since before the ban."

"Well, I don't think he'd take too kindly to it if I tagged along," Lorne conceded, smiling, "so I'm afraid this one is up to you."

"Actually, I was hoping Spike would accompany me."

The Deathwok Clan demon vigorously shook his head. "Bad idea, mon ami. Vampires don't really hail from the side of good. He's still got a soul and owns a Bible, but I don't think the all-knowing Father is prepared to make the distinction."

Tara began to gather up the map on the table, carefully folding it and placing it at her feet while dutifully preparing to clean up the remnants left over from the spell she'd previously cast, depositing everything into a small wastebasket to her right. "You can have the book you took if you think it'll help Buffy, but I think we can both agree that we have to find Adlam, and we have to find him now. Simple counter spells may not even work anymore if he's still building his strength. Spike's said as much. And if he's sharing dimensions, the vampires he's had Angelus make and those that are turning others, they...well, they can't go out into the sunlight like Spike can. I would think whatever other dimension they pass through has the same rules with night and day."

"Butcher shops?" he suggested.

"If my map was anything to go by, there's one that's a few streets over from the gallery. The tunnels don't seem to connect there, so they'd have to wait until it got dark and near closing if they wanted anything."

"You really are one of a kind, you know that?"

Her cheeks turned crimson. "I've never q-quite thrown myself into this kind of thing before. I mean, for starters, I cloak my store as a spice shop. What people see is what they get, but later on that all kind of changes, you know? I close up and I...I can just be me again. Wicca me. It's sort of like finally being able to be comfortable in your own skin."

"I hear you, honey. Well, not about the skin part, because mine's not the most attractive, but the part about just being you. Listen, I'm gonna alert the boys to our latest developments and we'll catch up tomorrow- maybe even do lunch. Good luck with talking Spike into church, too. He might even be nuts enough to try it now."

"He's not a bad guy, and he really loves her. When I met him I could see it."

Lorne picked up the book and cradled it to his chest. "If anything else, he tries."

Buffy Summers was trying awfully hard to unsee the dirt that caked her clothes and the bruises that lined her pretty complexion- not to mention the two tiny holes still present in her neck from where the teenage vampire had helped herself to a free meal. The face that stared back at her through the mirror was marred by fatigue and sadness, and she realized she didn't even know who she was anymore. There was the whole slayer deal, sure. Defender of all things evil and totally bad that she now contended with on a daily basis, but she'd never actually had a choice in the matter. Of course, she hadn't exactly _chosen_ to go to prison, either, but it had happened with or without her approval because she'd been falsely convicted of a terribly serious crime.

Shrugging out of the large beige sweater that she'd confiscated from Spike's duffel earlier, she tossed it on the floor and wiggled out of her jeans, her bra and panties following suit as she reached into the cabinet to her right and pulled out a big fluffy white towel. Silly as it was, she brought it to her nose and inhaled. She didn't really know what she expected, as it smelled more like laundry detergent than Spike, but he'd only been gone a few hours and she missed him. After Xander dropped her off and conceded to her persistence in assuring him she'd be perfectly safe left to her own devices, she'd thanked him for walking her to the door and watched him drive away- his brain likely still plagued with thoughts of not having done the same for Willow the night before.

Buffy had explored the rest of the cottage for awhile after that, eventually conking out on the couch and waking up to find her surroundings completely doused in blackness. She finally decided that she needed to stop moping and wash up, so she'd flipped on a few lights and trudged up the stairs intending to take a nice cold shower to rid herself of the icky grime. She decided she would get clean, slip into her pajamas, and maybe find something in the cupboards to munch on while she waited for his return.

It had been difficult to decipher his reaction after finding out Angelus was back, but she suspected it was even harder for him to hear about Dru- his longtime love and the same woman who'd left him to be with her sire and the very vampire Spike utterly despised. He was far from a saint himself, but from everything she'd heard about Angelus' reputation and the methods he'd condoned during his reign, she knew the peroxide vampire hardly measured up to such destruction. Frowning, she tossed the towel up over the top of the sliding door and reached over and turned the knob, adjusting it to just the right temperature. It was exactly the type of old fashioned style she'd come to expect from him, too. He'd naturally submitted to the ever changing technological breakthroughs back at his apartment, but in here it was all Spike, and it truly spoke volumes in confirming the amazing, yet tragically long life he'd led.

A life he'd graciously allowed her to be a part of.

Dipping her head under the spray, she gradually let it caress every inch of her body as she braced her hands against the tiled wall, shutting her eyes as she continued to let the water consume her. She tensed only slightly when a pair of icy fingers wrapped themselves around her waist, and mentally chastised herself in her failure to sense him again- though she hadn't been put off by the welcome disruption in the least. As a slayer, she knew she should've been able to hone that particular set of skills by now, and he'd said as much earlier. But her powers had felt a bit out of sorts since the fight in the alleyway, and she concluded that she was pretty much off her game at the moment. When those same fingers abandoned her waist to trail the length of her back, she felt a shiver course through her spine as her long hair was brushed aside and he gingerly bestowed a series of kisses along the line of her neck.

Saying nothing, she turned around, meeting intense blue eyes rife with tears. In the short time she'd known him, she didn't think she'd ever seen him so broken and distraught, the heart that wasn't beating inside him exposed for her to see in its state of completely raw imperfection. Using his blunt teeth to scrape along the edge of her jawline, he went and drew her in close for a hug, his rather obvious erection grazing the expanse of her stomach. Buffy felt his forehead collide with hers and risked a second glance at him, suddenly able to feel every ounce of what he was feeling again, his unblemished honesty pushing him toward rescue and redemption. It was the same thing she'd felt at the hospital. The same thing he'd tried to deny was between them. She also knew now that he couldn't deny this connection anymore, because his vulnerability had since surpassed the barrier he'd previously thrown up in his defense, doing a spectacularly lousy job of shutting out his emotions.

As his hands proceeded to dig into the soft flesh at her hips, Buffy recalled that she was just a bit sore from last night. Well, to be more accurate, she reasoned, early morning- as their activities had extended beyond the scope of and gave new meaning to a late night. But seeing the desperation that still haunted him so vividly had her putting her own troubles aside, gasping when he hoisted her up and she wrapped her legs tightly around him, marveling at the care he was taking with her when the cool tiles met her back. Sliding her arms around his neck, she professed a soft moan when his cunning fingers reached up to reverently fondle her breasts, his thumbs bringing each nipple to proper attention before he went and joyfully replaced his hands with his tongue. Buffy's head hit the wall behind her as she bit her bottom lip, relishing in the absolute pleasure he was starting to give her.

Pleasure only he could bring her.

When he inserted a slim finger between her folds and allowed it to stroke her clit, her hips began to buck excitedly against him, her legs nearly losing their vice like grip around his waist as she gratefully surrendered to the extremely pleasant sensation. Delicately removing his finger, he slowly replaced it with his cock, filling her with it as he deftly slid into her warm depths. Buffy felt her own eyes sting with tears as she acknowledged the tenderness he continued to show her, her own discomfort quietly waning as she felt him shift his stance and sink even further inside.

It was a side to him that was very much new to her, but one she'd caught faint glimpses of last night when he'd done an equally marvelous job of showing her just how much she meant to him. As he pulled out and painstakingly made his way back in again, she couldn't help the words that tumbled fervently from her lips.

"I love you."

She'd admitted it in so many syllables before, but never in such a straightforward manner, and Spike found himself laughing like a ponce despite himself. He kept his thrusts soft, yet deliberate as he minded her tender state from their first encounter. A first encounter that had turned into one of many when they'd returned to his bedroom and he'd carried her back upstairs, he remembered. He swallowed her cries with his lips as he touched them to his, barely managing to stifle a groan of his own when she continued to give him just as good as she got. Bringing her even closer, her breasts pressed against his chest, he dared to go even deeper and increased the speed of his thrusts. She spasmed and clenched around him as he felt her orgasm hit her without warning, so caught up in his own musings that he didn't have time to register it before taking advantage of her complacency and hitting her even harder, a finger returning to her clit as he came just as hard and fast, spilling himself into her.

He kissed her own tears from her cheeks and reached over to lick the wound that he knew was still a bit of a bother to her, noting with some satisfaction that she'd had no trouble with his own fangs when he'd had himself a taste to bring her out of the horror she'd begun to witness firsthand with what happened to her mum. The minutes that passed by were once again comprised of both kindness and warmth as he soaped up the sponge seated in the tray above her head and proceeded to wash every inch of her, in turn letting her do the same for him as his lips graced her forehead.

"Buffy."

"It's okay," she told him, a hand shakily traveling through his curly hair.

"Should've never sodding left you here. It was selfish and crass and it's not-"

"It's _fine_," she emphasized. "You did what you had to do and I was totally comfy here. I found a few of your books and took another little tour. Did you know that you could probably open an entire library with the collection you have?"

He only grinned. "Well, fancy that."

"Hard as it is for me to admit this, I think we both needed a bit of a break. You had every right to take some time after...you know, I'm not sure I should even be…yeah, so I'll just shut up now."

"Wish you wouldn't, 'cuz it was bleeding stupid of me to think the past still mattered. I'd already walked three whole blocks before I figured it out."

"If you don't want me to say his name, I won't, but I-"

"Say it all you like," he assured her. "Hers, too. I fell out of love with Dru ages ago, Buffy. It's taken me a damn long while to accept the full extent of it, and all that lackey did was buggering piss me off. The gall that poofed up wanker has to set foot in my city and strut his stuff like nothing's changed. It's personal- at least to him. Thing of it is, I think I stopped making it personal when he stepped in and made her his. Don't think I ever really stood a chance. Whatever else I may have- it's irrelevant, isn't it, 'cuz it still led me to you."

"You get a kick out of making me cry, don't you?"

"Made you do a couple of other things just now, too," he reminded her.

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled playfully. "Like I could've been anything other than willing there."

"Listen, about the-"

"It's about what I said," she cut him off. "For the record, you don't have to say it back. What you told me last night was more than-"

"Bloody love you, too," he whispered, "and from my side of the spectrum, that's about as ballsy as I get. Known it for some time, too. You'd think being a sodding poet, I would've been better at this and expressed myself a lot more eloquently than I have right now. But the truth of it is, I don't think I want to. Hope I didn't come off too much like some namby-pamby git in the process, but you've got the ability to reduce me to quite the tosser."

"Yeah, but you're my tosser," she quipped, giggling as she brought his mouth to hers for another quick kiss.

"I'm honored, Goldilocks." He reached over and turned off the water, grabbing the towel she'd slung over the top and wrapping her in it before pulling back the door. He bent over to retrieve the one he'd gotten for himself and left near the sink, briefly drying off before securing it over his hips and around his waist. "Was gonna ask if you'd be up for a spot of training, but it's late and we need to discuss a potential break in our case."

"They called you during your alone time, didn't they?"

"They did," he asserted, "but it wasn't without merit. Lorne said that Tara's asked me to go with her to visit a fella called Father O'Carroll."

"A _priest_?" she asked, dumbfounded. "I've always thought it was the cardinal rule for vampires to refrain from talking to guys who practically worship the Bible."

"What if it's a vampire who reads one himself?" he countered.

She rolled her eyes. "Good point. It's just...are you seriously considering doing this? It's a lot for her to ask, and I don't want him condemning you for all eternity before you get a chance to speak."

He smirked, raising a fairly amused brow. "Hate to tell you this, pet, but I've already been condemned for all eternity. Part of the whole creature of the night package that you never quite sign up for but always seem to get anyway."

"Guess that one's on me," Buffy muttered, heading toward the closet before being strangely cut off at the pass inches before she'd made it to her destination. She gave him the best annoying glare she could drum up, forever finding it terribly difficult to stay mad at him. "All right, now what, tough guy? Just so we're clear, I'm not doing anything kinky with you in there. So not into the bondage thing for obvious reasons, so whatever box of tricks you're hiding on whatever shelf, you can most definitely keep to yourself."

"Won't lie to you and say I haven't experimented over the years, love, but that's not what has me puzzled."

"Puzzled?" she returned.

"Unless you're set on wearin' my clothes again, I can't see why you'd be lookin' in here."

She blushed, as she took a single step back, her arms nervously crossing themselves over her chest while she bit her lower lip. "That's, uh...well, that's probably another little something else that I forgot to tell you."

"_Uh huh_," Spike stated slowly. "Tell me...what, exactly?"

"I was trying to keep myself busy before, and I…well I went and..." She directed her eyes heavenward and bit her lip even harder.

"Bloody hell," he sided, as recognition finally dawned on him after further inspection, taking in the recent additions of the tank tops and hoodies on the hangers, coupled with a few small sweaters. "You moved some of your girly things in, didn't you?"

"If you're upset, I can take them out," she amended immediately. "I should've known you wouldn't go for sharing when you didn't even really do the girlfriend stuff before. It's my mistake, and I'll-"

"Buffy."

"Take them out and put them back in my duffel," she finished lamely, before hearing her name. "Yeah, okay, dare I say this is my hopeful ear."

"It is, 'cuz just when I think you've outdone yourself, you keep on surprising me."

"I do?" she managed weakly.

"You do," he echoed, "and I don't mind sharing. Bit more domestic than I'd like, but it just means I'll have to get used to it. And since we're covering the subject of clothing, or lack thereof, I'd feel better if you dropped that towel and got into bed just the way you are."

Her mouth nearly dropped open. "We're not going another round tonight, mister. I'm tired and I'm still sore, and if you-"

"I'll behave myself," he verified, as he let his towel drop and held out his hands in surrender.

"Doesn't sound like behaving to me," she mumbled, but complied anyway, keeping her emerald eyes trained on him as she walked toward the bare mattress and sat down, pouting slightly at the lack of bedsheets that occupied the vast space.

Spike retrieved two large blankets from within the closet they'd just stood near and draped them over her, relinquishing the speck of light in the room and crawling in beside her, laying on his side and drawing her to him. When she insisted on wiggling her butt to try and get what he presumed was a little more comfortable, he stilled her movements by tracing invisible patterns over her stomach, closing his eyes as he tried in vain to calm his own reaction.

"I like this."

He leaned in further and nibbled her ear, a laugh rumbling low in his throat. "Haven't done it nearly enough to know one way or the other."

"You mean you...what about Dru?"

He professed a needless sigh. "Occasionally, but after awhile, she started to like it rough. Could be why Angelus always seemed to be the cure there."

"They can be killed the usual way, right?"

"All vampires can be killed the usual way. Well, unless they've got a ring like yours truly so they won't burst into flames. Angelus and Dru can't withstand daylight, which keeps 'em from roamin' about at all hours and gettin' themselves a few extra snacks. Buys us a bit of time."

"Do you think you'll be able to?"

"Be able to what?"

"Stake them when it comes time to do it. You guys go back. Eighteen hundreds back."

"We may not have to," he added. "Harris says Lorne thinks Adlam might be dimension hopping."

"Dimension hopping."

"Meaning he's not specifically tied to this plane. Not stunningly original with the name, I'll grant you, but it's essentially what it is in a nutshell. If we can find some way to trap them there, whatever portal they try to invoke won't work. Tara apparently received a...ping of sorts from your mum's gallery and Lorne's convinced it's where the portal first originated. There's probably been others, too, as I doubt he's been hanging around here during his entire evil span of darkness."

She smiled. "Evil span of darkness. Really?"

He tickled her as he once again brought his fingers to her stomach, steadily reaching up to cup a breast in the palm of his hand as he gave it a friendly squeeze. "What? It's a thing."

"Oh, I'll bet."

"Poor choice of words aside, I think the more pressing issue here is why our guy prefers workin' with two vampires that made his life a living hell back in the day- especially Angelus. Wasn't lyin' about that story with what he did to Clara. Witnessed it with my own two eyeballs."

"He killed the woman Adlam loved. That would be grounds for immediate dismissal and an extremely painful death where Angelus is concerned. He shouldn't want either one of them anywhere near him."

"Yeah, but he also needed a vampire army, so in that sense it's all relative, ain't it? They help him, and he...bugger it."

"What?" Buffy craned her neck, struggling to get a read on his expression as he removed his hand from her breast to run it through his blonde hair. "What is it?"

"I'd wager Dru's lookin' for a plaything and wants the old gang back. Angelus isn't giving it to her as much as he should and the bird wants us to assemble and conform to her meddlesome idea of a sodding family again. She always had it in her noggin that despite our differences blood would always bind us to one another. We'd all shared it at some point. Darla made Angelus, Angelus made Dru and Dru made me. It's all connected."

"Then why isn't Darla with them?"

"Damn good question, though I haven't the faintest. Wish hard enough and she might just be dead and bloody ashes- God rest her lack of a soul."

"Art gallery tomorrow?"

"Afraid I've gotta go to church first."

"I'm coming with you," she insisted. "If he goes and tries to burn you to a crisp, you'll need someone there to help and be observant."

"Observant," he reiterated tediously.

"Hey, I want some answers, too. You think you're the only one waiting for them to fall into your lap?"

"S'pose not, but what does a priest have to do with finding yours?"

"Whether or not you're gonna live to see your five hundredth birthday."

"I'm not blooming five hundred, Slayer. Reckon I'm on the side of two, but nowhere near five."

"Whatever you say, Grandpa."

"Grandpa, is it?" He dipped a digit below her naval and eased it into her slick folds, delicately prompting her into a rhythm as he stroked her, rubbing in painfully slow circles.

"Okay, so not fair. I just...oh God."

Catching her before she brought herself to completion, he suddenly withdrew, bravely submitting himself to a thousand protests when he'd stopped her just short of coming.

"You really are evil, you know that?"

"Go to sleep, Buffy."

"Why? Smothering you with my pillow would be so much more entertaining right now."

He laughed as he placed a tiny kiss along her jawline, averse to depriving her wholly of his affections. "Vampire, pet. Wouldn't even knock me out cold."

"I hate you."


	32. Chapter 32: The Die Has Been Cast

Note: This is the last chapter that's complete. I'm about halfway through chapter 33, though, so look for it sometime next week. Another thanks to Spuffygirl, too! :)

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Die Has Been Cast

_December 20th_

5:18 AM

"Rupert," the tired voice beckoned, as Jenny Calendar yawned and groggily made her way into the living room of the apartment, the lighting surprisingly dim. Her dark hair was rumpled and her white tank top and plaid bottoms sported new wrinkles, a pair of brown slippers cozily keeping her feet warm. "What are you doing up?"

"Never actually went to sleep," the record keeper murmured as he risked a peek into the coffee mug that sat on the table in front of him, clearly dismayed when he found nothing at his disposal that he could readily consume. His eyes were almost bloodshot, and he grinned somewhat sadly, reaching for the photo that occupied the space next to the mug. It had been printed on a style of paper that was currently obsolete and had a considerable amount of wear to it from being handled quite frequently.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she offered then.

"Go back to bed, Jenny."

"I'm guessing that was a rather feeble attempt to shut me out. Good thing I'm more or less known for my stubborn streak." She laughed, trying hard to lighten the mood a bit, the highly repetitious strain of music that droned on monotonously in the background causing her to cringe slightly as the noise sharply pierced her eardrum. "Should I even be asking what this piece is called?"

"Ludwig van Beethoven," he clarified almost warmly. "Symphony No. 3 in E Flat Major, Opus 55. A particularly joyful piece under normal circumstances, but nothing's been terribly normal for some time, has it?"

"It still throws you."

"Throws me?" he reiterated, creasing his brows.

"The fact that she's still alive? You didn't want to accept it, and now that you have, things aren't as great as they seem." She took the photo from him and examined the smiling face of a younger Joyce Summers. She suspected it had been taken when they'd started seeing one another regularly- before her own time with him. "I know this probably won't make you feel better, but he pulled the wool over everybody's eyes, Rupert. There were numerous signs of misdirection and we even fell short on the numbers his vampire army has grown to. We can't say we ever saw any of it coming."

"We didn't see _him_ coming, and that's the problem. We never really do."

"If Lorne was right about him biding time in other dimensions, things run differently there. _Time_ passes differently."

"I suspect whichever one he was in was..._is_ very much like our own, as his meticulous planning would most certainly account for it."

"Okay," she acknowledged. "Say that's true. Maybe I can work with Tara on some binding spells. Maybe we could see if-"

"It won't hold him. Not anymore. He's been able to build upon his more advanced capabilities quite gradually, though I'd assume whatever dimension he's hopping from may have given him a boost or two. Trapping him likely won't help matters much at all. If anything, it may only add to his penchant for destruction."

"Well, for the most part, he's actually become annoyingly subtle," Jenny vouched.

"He's trying to break down those closest to her until she has nothing left. It's a classic battle strategy if there ever was one."

"And that's what's really bothering you. Deep down, you know she doesn't deserve this, and you just want it to be over with. The thing of it is, it doesn't always work like that. We both know it. It'll get worse before it gets better."

"I realize that," he snapped, immediately regretting it. He ran his hands agitatedly through his hair, strangely itching for a second cup of coffee. He was finding he was becoming oddly more tolerant of its flavor in the past few days despite his aversion, and struggled against that admission more than he cared to admit. He was indulging himself in the habit quite a bit and he presumed it wasn't exactly healthy. The night William had come to pay him a visit him at the library after he'd caught the Hart case had been another such instance, as he'd tried to convince himself he needed the boost to function and cope with the late hours he'd put in. As it was, tea was quickly becoming a faint memory and he figured he'd miscalculated its calming effect. "It's just...I wish there was more we could do to help them. If I'd had even the slightest idea Joyce was still alive, I never would have given up looking for her. I'd have implemented every resource I had to find her, magical or otherwise. It's likely she believes we've failed her. Her daughter was confined to a penitentiary, and wherever she is right now, it's become very clear she hasn't fared much better."

"You never stopped loving her," she whispered. "Did you?"

"I hardly think that matters when-"

"It does, Rupert. It really does. It's also probably a pretty big indication as to why we didn't last. Now, you can fight me every step of the way on that one if you want, but you have to admit it's a fairly accurate description of what we were to each other."

"If you're implying in any way that I used you, you're sadly mistaken."

She sat beside him then, taking her hands in his, as she willed him to look at her, her expression strangely hopeful despite the urgency of the situation. "I know you never used me."

"Well, that's something, isn't it?"

"But I also know that what we had isn't what you really wanted."

"Jenny-"

"We don't just have Adlam to worry about anymore. I can see that you're a little stuck in the past this morning, and you're entitled to it, because it's your right. But the only place we should move now is forward. Angelus and Drusilla are just as much of a threat to us. If you're going to sit here and drown your own sorrows, you might want to think about how William feels in all of this. He ran with the two of them for a better part of his early existence. We can see it's something he's no longer proud of, but I'd imagine he's not exactly thrilled with the current turn of events."

"Buffy's the only one who can get through to him there," he managed as he broke contact and stood, picking up his empty mug and shuffling off to the kitchen, his bare feet trailing along the cold floor. The sash to the blue cotton robe he wore over a simple gray t-shirt and matching blue striped bottoms was coming loose, and he set the mug in the sink and allowed his fingers to draw it tighter, bracing both hands over the countertop as he leaned forward.

"I agree."

"You were right about her, by the way," Giles amended. "She's a wonderful girl and I dare say you didn't hear this from me, but they fit. Joyce might not have known it, but she's raised a warrior. She'll surprise us all. Not that she hasn't already, of course, but I've told William she hasn't yet grasped the weight of her true potential."

"Well, considering she didn't even know she was destined for slayerdom until some crazy guy started trying to kill her, I doubt the warrior title would have applied before."

"True, but she's certainly started taking advantage of the fact that she's different. William's taught her well. It's up to her now to use it."

"In any case, the local news coverage has been something of an eye sore lately with that apartment building being set ablaze. They must have their hands full, as it hasn't been that long since Willy's. More connections."

"Yes, but William wasn't responsible for Willy's, and seeing as they haven't yet managed to recover any bodies from the complex in question, it only stands to reason that his theory regarding the vampire nesting ground was correct."

"Especially since he personally torched one that was inside," she remarked, smiling. "Yeah, it's correct, all right. Breathe, Rupert."

"I am breathing." He reached over and grasped the coffeepot, noting with some disdain that the remainder of liquid that still sat in it was likely cold and would taste dreadfully unappealing. But he ultimately decided that it would have to suffice and he'd initiate a compromise as a result of his suddenly strong need to consume it. That very need was far outweighing the time he was willing to wait if he opted to measure out fresh grounds and patiently sat through the duration it took to brew.

"You've also strayed from your drink of choice," she pressed curiously. "Anything else I should know about?"

"He risked losing his soul for her, Jenny. Not that anything ever came of it, but he was willing to defend her from Rack at all costs. We've made our peace, though I can't say I approve of the chances he takes."

"Not that it matters now, as we've already nailed down our guy, but my friend who used to work for the department came through. She confirmed that the sample I sent her of the book and the signature he gave you at the library are a match. Better late than never. I wasn't even going to go through with it, but I just didn't want there to be any question when-"

"I appreciate it," he told her.

"Aside from that, I've literally got jack on the 'drink me' bottle, although it's not surprising its origins are untraceable. It was in that house for seven years and he was probably more proficient at covering his tracks back then. Even if the cops had found it and attempted to determine where it came from, one of them pops the cap off and they're all pretty much in for it."

"His far more recent slipups would suggest Willow is unharmed as well. I would wager a strong guess that the best of his army also haven't been deployed into the field as of yet. The vampire William...captured, if you will, wasn't really the smartest lad of the bunch."

"Look, I think we're both beginning to see what it is we're up against here, so if you'd like to talk about Joyce-"

"I don't," he answered abruptly. "I...I suppose I mean to say I...I can't, as I'm not quite sure I feel comfortable sharing that aspect of my life with a woman I was just as intimately involved with. It's rather complicated."

"Because you thought she was gone," Jenny concluded softly.

"I'd convinced myself as such in my head, and after awhile it was all I'd known to be true. I'd accepted her death and I'd made a genuine effort to move on once the pain of it had lessened somewhat. I don't usually play the fool, and there was nothing left to question. I made a promise to watch over Buffy as best I could, and while I was able to stall Adlam in his quest to get to her since her conviction, I take some comfort that Joyce would have approved of my attempts and forgiven me for being unable to intervene on a more personal level."

"What those men did to her will be with her forever," she agreed. "No one's disputing that. But William got her to open up."

"He's also slept with her," he asserted.

"Please don't tell me you're afraid of her getting pregnant, because safe sex is pretty much a non-issue when it's a vampire, Rupert. I would've thought they covered that in one of your many handbooks."

"Yes, well, I was apparently absent the day of the pop quiz."

She chuckled, and it was a welcome sound amid the bleak atmosphere. "We're getting closer. I know it might not seem like it, but we are."

"Perhaps it's because every time someone suggests it, we all find ourselves right back at square one again. I believe my skepticism can easily be corroborated in that case, and rightfully so."

"You lost me at using corroborated so early in the morning," she retorted. "Look, let me make us some coffee and we can whittle a few stakes before the gallery meeting. Sound good?"

He only smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."

"It'll be okay," she added, very hesitantly placing a hand upon his back before moving to the canister he kept his grounds in. She carefully shuffled out the correct amount as she watched him drop into a chair at the table, rigidly clasping his hands in front of him upon the hard surface.

"I fear it's still one of those things that's easier said than done." Giles sighed, very much starting to feel the effects of the all-nighter he'd pulled. "I understand that you're becoming impatient and wish to be back in the comfort of your own home again, but until we have Joyce and Willow it's rather improbable at the moment. You're not safe."

"I'm also not upset," she vehemently insisted. "If I'm being honest, it's really not the nightmare I thought it would be and I don't mind staying a little longer if I need to. That is, if you don't mind _having_ me for that little while longer."

"Don't mind at all. If anything, you've nearly restored my faith in coffee, and that's a complex task in and of itself. It's quite difficult to master."

Buffy thought she'd mastered the task of subtlety as she approached the fairly imposing church in the near vacant lot, but if the glances Spike kept shooting her way were any kind of hint, she needed to go back to the school of subtleness and refresh her memory on the proper etiquette. She abruptly looked away from him again and decided to focus on Tara, who by all accounts wasn't even the tiniest bit nervous to be so close to a building of worship. Deep down, the slayer wondered if the time she'd done in prison would have any lasting impact on whether or not she'd be allowed inside, as convicts weren't really doing those who prayed any favors in the long run. But technically, a vampire was much more dangerous because they'd spent years preying upon the less fortunate and actually enjoyed it.

She knew it wasn't who he was now, but it didn't mean she could stop herself from thinking it.

"_What_?"

"Huh?" She whipped her head up and found two pools of blue trailing her every move as the three of them made their way to the front entrance, refusing to let her off that easy when he gently grabbed a hold of her arm and halted her step, turning her toward him.

"Bloody hell, Slayer, just come out with it."

"Come out with what?" she tried innocently, as she managed to shift her eyes to her feet.

"Don't play coy with me. We already had a nice little discussion about this last night. You didn't have to come."

"You shouldn't say hell when you're near a religious institution. It's probably bad luck."

"Bad lu-" He paused as it slowly hit him, becoming consciously aware of the truth behind her unrelenting opposition. In spite of all her protests directed at him regarding a vampire entering a place of reverence, it was exactly the same for her. She was likely facing her own struggles due to her seven year incarceration and whether the men inside the establishment would view her as nothing more than a murderer, or worse…a whore. He didn't know why he hadn't seen it earlier and mentally cursed himself for his obliviousness. "Still more alike than different, aren't we?" he put in, as he calmly studied her, tilting his head to the side and grinning. She nervously bit her bottom lip and tried to avoid his scrutiny, more than just a little alert to the fact that he was standing much too close for comfort.

"Really?" she added, shrugging it off. "I actually hadn't noticed. At least not with this."

"Oh, it's exactly this, Goldilocks. Looks like our little connection isn't as one sided as we thought."

"You're making an interence, which is so not even the same thing."

"_Inference_," Spike chastised, his smile growing wider. "Buffy, you've got nothing to worry about."

"With our connection?"

"Well, yeah," he amended. "That, and the way you're standing there so bleeding stiff 'cuz you think they'll anoint you in holy water and perform some kind of sacred ritual while they tell you to be a good girl and hurry off to confession."

"But I'm dirty," she whispered then, not wanting Tara to hear. The blonde was busy trying to make with the aloofness as she waited off to the side and on the lawn, her hands joined in front of her as she rocked back upon the balls of her feet, her blue eyes trying to look anywhere but directly at them. "I'm not pure, Spike. What they did to me in the- they won't pardon me. I can be as repenting as I want, but it won't matter."

"You also made love to a vampire," he reminded her. "On several occasions, too, so if anything, you're already sodding screwed."

"Yeah, and I liked it with you, so I don't think- you know what? I'm not discussing this when there are probably priests inside."

"You weren't so modest last night."

"Stop that!" she hissed, shoving him away.

"Stop what?"

"You _know_ what. And speaking of modesty, I was. Very modest, in fact, because you left me wanting after we...we..."

"Do you have to use the loo, or are you making a polite reference to failing to bring you to completion after the-"

"Quiet," she stammered. "Priests, nuns, sins, remember?"

"Right then." Smirking to himself after he'd managed to loosen her up, he shot Tara an apologetic look and pulled open one of the two large double doors in the entryway, urging both of them inside. The interior struck him as terribly old fashioned, and had likely failed to conform to the changes made during the ban- let alone the turn of the decade. The colors were surprisingly simple and had refrained from being too flashy, the checkered floor tiles a mix of light beige and cream. The walls were off white with maroon decor, the dark brown pews a stark contrast to the lighter hues. The tall ceiling only served as a hollow reminder of the emptiness that existed inside and Spike abstained from looking at the statues seated in enclosures several feet from the pews, making sure to avoid the familiar one in the middle entirely.

The art was few and far between, but he recognized a few of the scenes being depicted as having come straight from the Bible, his knowledge not nearly as limited as he would have himself believe.

"Can I help you folks with something today? By the looks of it, I don't feel you're just out enjoying the weather." The young priest was of average height with black hair and blue eyes, and he spoke with a clear Irish accent, a rosary and a small stack of books cradled in his grasp.

"W-we're looking for Father O'Carroll," Tara managed quietly.

His jovial expression diminished suddenly as he professed a slight frown at her request. "Then I'm afraid you're a tad too late."

"Too late?" Spike echoed.

"Father Walker called an ambulance for him about an hour ago. We found him unconscious in the rectory. Had a pretty big gash on his forehead. We assumed he'd been going against regulation and drowning his troubles in a pint again. Wouldn't be the first time."

"Drunk."

"Drunk as a skunk," he insisted. "I'm Father Doyle. Allen Francis, actually, but I prefer Doyle. O'Carroll was supposed to conduct mass this morning, but I'll be filling in for him due to the...we're calling it an accident. Best that stays out of the papers, too- if they even print them anymore."

"How long have you been here?" Buffy asked him.

"In this parish? Going on two years now. I'm really not a bad guy, so whatever you came here to tell him, I'll offer my services instead. Though I still trust you're not here to do penance and make good in the way of Our Lord and Savior."

"We heard O'Carroll hasn't exactly been himself lately," Spike explained. "Aside from the drinkin', that is. There've been stories of him ravin' about sinners and something bad being on the way. Don't s'pose you'd be able to make heads or tails of it for us and clarify."

"I might be able to do a little more than that," Father Doyle muttered, as he placed his books down on one of the pews and hung the rosary around his neck. Spike's wince didn't go unnoticed. "His quarters are basically a shrine to the upcoming apocalypse, as he puts it, and at first glance it probably comes off as the rantings of a madman. Good thing I know better, as I've come into contact with this a time or two myself. They don't speak to me direct, and the church more or less has a policy against it, but there've been some things that just haven't been adding up. You could say I've been expecting you."

Doyle inclined his head toward the right and urged them to follow him out of a side door, leading them over to a clergy house whose landscape was well kept and tidy and boasted a beautiful rose garden that surrounded the perimeter, its brick composition tall and imposing against the blue sky. Father O'Carroll's room was rather sparse in terms of furnishings and contained only the bare necessities which allowed him to function on a daily basis. If it weren't for the outright chaotic display adorning the walls, it would have been a typical sanctuary for a priest to retire to after fulfilling his work quota for the day. A Bible with crinkled pages lay open on a bed with simple sheets, the wood floor creaking a bit as they entered, giving the space a strangely uncomfortable feel.

"Wow," Tara uttered. "That's...it's, um, pretty intense."

"I'll say," Buffy agreed, her green eyes widening.

"You mentioned they don't speak to you direct," Spike addressed Doyle. "Who exactly are the _they_ in this scenario, mate? 'Cuz after seeing this, I'm thinkin' it's not the sodding church."

"Well, I could ask you the same thing," he retorted, his professional demeanor somewhat subsiding.

Spike merely arched a brow. "Meaning?"

"We all got something to atone for, don't we? My guess is that you'll be at it for all eternity."

The vampire professed a half smile as he gestured to the news clippings plastered to the walls, some of them dating back to over ninety years. "Doesn't say much about your confidant Father O'Carroll then, does it?"

"He's been tracking the murders of those young girls since before I was born."

"You're not human."

"Oh, I am. But I get these visions, see. Great splitting migraines, too, but they come with a picture. Puts me out of commission sometimes. I get a name, a face, but in all honestly, I'm not even sure who sends them. Way I see it, it's some power higher than this church just trying to make things right. Unfortunately, I think they were off the mark with this one. O'Carroll didn't know it, but these girls were slayers. One girl in all the-"

"World. Yada, yada, yada," Buffy put in. "We know this. These are Adlam's kills, aren't they?"

"If that's what you're calling him. The way I figure it, the balance isn't working in your favor right now."

"She's a slayer, too," Tara informed him, her eyes still trained on the walls. "He's after her and he's holding her mom and her friend in an undisclosed location. I'm unable to get a read on where. It was s-suggested to me that he may be using a portal between worlds to accomplish this and renew his strength."

"There's also what's between dimensions," Doyle proclaimed, holding out his hands as he gestured. "In theory, he could be anywhere."

"So you can't help us."

He turned to Buffy, his mouth drawn in a firm line. "All I know is what I've seen, and if you aren't having the dreams slayers are known for, I'm not sure I can put much stock in the legitimacy of my visions as of late. Then again, he could be doing something to prevent yours."

"What have you seen?"

"An athame," he ventured forth. "It's more or less a ceremonial dagger."

"It's used for Wiccan ritual practices," Tara confirmed. "They were outlawed after the ban, but some of us were able to shield ours in plain sight, so we still have them. But the majority were confiscated and destroyed. The athame's roots can be traced back to paganism, too. It has a double edged blade and typically represents one of the four elemental tools in Wicca, which is fire. A ritual sword pretty much stands for the same thing, but those are more for coven use. Someone like a high priest or priestess."

"I'm impressed," Doyle declared, grinning.

"Bugger it," Spike stated. "We know what it is and what it does- the question is _why_?"

"Casting the circle, yeah? Although I'd recommend the coven if you're going this route. Group effort and all that. If he's too strong to be cornered, it won't work with just one of you or even three of you. The dark arts aren't the easiest thing to combat when the guy wielding them has been at it for years and may as well have had landmarks named after him. But there's still another option and it's of the extremely rare and unheard of variety. So rare that some have equated it to the likes of King Arthur himself."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding," he quipped. "Look, I'm not pulling a sword out of a bleeding stone."

"It wouldn't be for you," he disputed, his cerulean eyes meeting Buffy's. "It would be for her."

"For me?" she repeated, her voice barely audible. "No, I'm so not even-"

"Ready?" Doyle countered. "The great ones never are. It's always a test. And right now it's about reaching out and showing people that there's still some good left in this world. The bottom line is, if these powers that speak to me with my visions want you to find it, you'll find it."

"How?"

"Tears of blood," he replied simply. "Or so I've heard. Once the tears flow into a bigger part of the whole, you'll see it. It's said to have been blessed by some kind of deity and only shows itself to those it deems worthy of using it. It's supposed to have the power to destroy the very evil that emerged at the behest of surrendering a soul. His soul. It's what gives him his long life. Find the dagger before you find him."

"Great, more research."

"And speaking of all things dark and deadly, I thought vampires were basically night deposit guys. How is it that you're able to walk among us?"

"Magic," Spike deadpanned.

"W-what about the portal?" Tara questioned. "We think we know where it'll open, but-"

"That's O'Carroll's specialty," Doyle verified. "He's the spells guy. I'm mostly just the messenger guy. A messenger of God, if you count this place. What you do with what I've given you is up to you. You're welcome to help yourself to anything in here, too, yeah? I think he'd want you to have it. I'll be getting ready for mass if you need me for anything else."

"Thank you," she uttered faintly.

He nodded and exited, the sound of his feet shuffling hurriedly down the stairs. Spike moved in to get a closer view of the last article on his left, flattening out the rolled up edges wrought with age between his index finger and his thumb, and allowing his blues to grace the content in black ink. It alluded to a cold case of a girl who'd vanished in the nineteen forties, her body never having been found. The papers seemed to be in order by decade, and he guessed there wasn't anything earlier because the proper records hadn't been kept and some of the young women had likely slipped through the cracks without a second thought. So many pretty faces crying out for help and no one had been there to speak for them.

If anything, he'd already seen enough.

"Are you okay?"

He glanced over at the hands that grasped his sweater and up into the eyes of the one slayer whose name he wouldn't yet find in any such article unless it was to chronicle her wrongful imprisonment the day Adlam had almost succeeded and met with unexpected failure instead. He ran his fingertips the length of her cheek and reached in to press his lips to hers, savoring her warmth to steady and right himself. "I am now."

"Well, not to go all prophecy girl on you, but we should probably start looking for that dagger."

"We'll locate the portal first. Once we know where it is, it won't take long to find him."

"And kill him."

"There's my girl."

"If he's on this plane when you find him, we could still try the circle s-stuff," Tara supplied hopefully, not wishing to intrude on such a personal moment as she shyly cast her line of vision to the ground. "Even if it only holds him for a little while, it would still give you plenty of time to use the dagger against him. If Father Doyle was right about its power, he shouldn't be immune to it because it was created from good. There's nothing good in him anymore now."

"Yeah, but he didn't say what the dagger would do to me if Ashford finds a way to- he could do that, couldn't he? Turn it on me if it fails on him?"

"I don't know," she answered the slayer, shrugging. "I can see if any of my books have anything on it, but I'm not really sure where to look. It doesn't derive itself from Wiccan origins like the athame does, so it might be difficult to track down."

"Maybe not as difficult as it is misplaced," Spike advocated.

"And that's supposed to help us...how?" Buffy inquired.

"Let me make a call."

"You know a guy who knows a guy, who also knows a guy, right?"

"Just one, and I know he's bloody tired of haulin' off the dead and demonically departed."


	33. Chapter 33: Behind the Eight Ball

A/N: Thanks Spuffygirl! Esmejasper, sorry for the longer delay in updates. :)

Chapter Thirty-Three: Behind the Eight Ball

7:24 AM

"A quest for a dagger?" the voice retorted, its smug British accent clearly detesting the prospect altogether. "What is this, _Lord of the Rings_?"

"Right." Spike merely rolled his eyes out of view on the other end of the line, the individual he was speaking to testing his boundaries and the very foundation of his patience. He watched Tara enter her shop and promptly close and lock the door behind her, giving him a quick thumbs up sign through the small window, before topping it off with one of her shy, trademark smiles. He returned it and edged his black DeSoto away from the curb, warily resuming his destination along the busy stretch of road en route to the gallery. The witch had still been adamant about refusing to accompany them, and despite how much he'd pressed and tried to persevere with the issue, she'd stood her ground, promising she'd continue to do her best with more research once she consulted her books. He figured it would just have to suffice. "Well, as daunting an idea as it might sound, there's some cash to be had if you agree to it and tell us where we need to look. Don't have to participate in the slightest, mate. We'll take care of the hunt. All we need's a place of interest. This isn't about a sodding ring, it's about a dagger."

"Yes, thank you, Frodo. How indescribably comforting. But I regret to inform you that this so-called place of interest is no longer in service."

"Find it that fast, did you?"

"I'm speaking of Council Headquarters," Ethan drawled impatiently. "The Watcher Archives, too, if I were to be more precise. Right now, they're as good as dust in the wind. Your Merlin clad guest of honor put those heartless bastards out of commission, which I'm sure you would've had an inkling of had you done your homework. Too many disappearances, so little time to solve them. The general concept of Watchers still very much exists, I'll grant you, but their methods have long since reached their expiration date. It's all been toned down considerably, as they've nothing to do now but wait."

"They can't risk the lives of other girls."

"Yes, and they've been on the verge of disbanding for years."

"So where exactly do I find one of these heartless bastards?" Spike quipped.

"I've got an address or two at my disposal," Ethan informed him. "Well, not all of them, as I'm in the process of completing an assignment in the field at the moment, but I'd be reluctant to say if it'll pan out for either one. The information was acquired quite some time ago. There also used to be an old haunt below ground where they'd gather to avoid further punishment from the ban. I've an address for that as well. You won't find it in Los Angeles, although the first bloke on my list did run a sanctuary of sorts that was located here back in the day."

"Give me all you've got then."

"You don't want much, do you?" he retorted. "You know, surely you must've heard of all this at some point or another. They no longer even prepare the girls. The cause has all but been abandoned, yet the slayer herself continues to exist. Instead, these so-called Watchers hide away and blame the world for their tiresome misfortunes. Pathetic doesn't even begin to cover it."

"All signs point to the current slayer's Watcher being killed before he could reach her."

"This wouldn't by any chance have something to do with the warlock you tasked me with getting rid of, does it?"

"Unable to confirm or deny that."

"Oh, really?" he laughed. "Ever the gentlemen about remaining consistently mum. Well, after you mentioned vampire and attack in the same sentence, I derived a few guesses of my own from those unfortunate circumstances. Particularly of the bloodsucking variety. Care to hear them?"

"Wasn't why I called."

"Vampires haven't made up even a quarter of the population for years," he continued. "They're nearly extinct- or were, if the latest reports I've come across are anything to brag about. But the attack on this Rack fellow was well before those broadcasts were made available to the wandering eye and ear, and just happened to come from a house you sent me to and had recently vacated. You don't have to be a world renowned intellect to suss it out."

"If you're bloody going anywhere with this, Rayne, I suggest you get there before noon today."

"Not all of my clients are human, you know. I'm willing to work with them, because I understand and rightfully rebel against the authority that's been implemented on us as a result of the ban. A ban that makes it a point to destroy their kind. It's impossible to condone."

"If you're casting blame, I'd cast it on the responsible parties and be done with it. Still waitin' on those addresses, too."

"As I said, the only one I've got on hand at the moment is that of the former sanctuary," he muttered rather irritably, rattling off the number and street from memory. "I'll drop you a line when I have the rest. Until then, don't bite anyone."

"Nice try."

"It is, if I dare say so myself. I may have missed my calling as a clairvoyant. In all honesty, I do hope you find what you're looking for."

"Me, too." Spike ended the conversation and turned very briefly to the petite blonde in the passenger seat, noting that she'd been awfully quiet since they'd left the church, her thoughts likely preoccupied with the dagger in question, although he still wasn't nearly as adept at reading her with the accuracy at which she'd been reading him.

When Father Doyle had initially told them about it, his first instinct had been to phone his mentor and request his immediate assistance on the matter. But after Jenny had left him a message detailing Rupert's faulty state of mind that morning- not to mention how he hadn't gotten a single iota of rest since they set the nesting grounds on fire, it didn't take Spike long to discover that the overdue news about Joyce was finally sinking in. As it stood, it looked like the whelp was the only one who was up for meeting them at the gallery, and under great protest, no less.

He hadn't exactly been overly fond of getting in touch with Ethan again, but given the timetable at stake, the Caretaker had seemed like a logical approach. He knew people Spike hadn't bothered to make it a point to run into over the years, and for good reason. If anyone could track down any additional information, it would be him. There was also still a possibility, remote as it was, that the sanctuary he'd spoke of might not entirely be a bust.

"Slayer?"

"I'm good," she added. "Totally fine."

"You're not good and totally fine," he murmured. "I may not be on the level as of yet, but you're hardly ready for battle."

"It's just...I don't know. I mean I get that I'm supposed to be the one girl in all the world who's been picked to fight this massively powerful evil and everything, but..."

"But?"

She shrugged. "As much as I hate saying this, you're probably right. I'm not ready. I'm really not. The funny thing is, I don't think I'll ever be. I've got this amazing, thoughtful, wonderful guy who cares so much about me, and if anything ever happened to him, I'd...well, I'd place the blameworthiness on myself, because I wasn't entirely up to par with the slayage."

"Give yourself more credit. You've done more in the short time I've known you, than I'd figure some of the earliest slayers managed to accomplish in their abbreviated lifetime. The skills and strength are there, and you pack a damn good punch. 'Sides, the book Lorne dropped off might prove right useful in that department. Nothing as sexy as a slayer who's been given a little magic to mess with."

"Exactly how many have you known?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes at him.

"You'd be the first, love." He smirked, stealing another glance at her. "Might want to find a way to put all that pent up frustration to better use, too."

"Mind. Gutter. Out."

"Look, Ethan says the Watchers have all but given up tryin' to take Adlam on themselves. He gave me an address that's supposed to point the way to an old haven of sorts where the stuffy tweed types used to take refuge. We can hit it after the gallery."

"More road trips," she whispered. "Perfect."

"Buffy."

"Like I said, I'm good," she quickly assured him.

"When I get a lead, I take it."

"Because you're a cop," she reiterated.

"Bugger it," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Yeah, 'cuz I'm a cop. Anya, Harris, and I aren't playing by the book, and we've just about driven that point into the sodding ground already. I know it bothers you, but it's better than havin' it out with Snyder and losin' what I need to do my job. That includes you."

"What about when it's over?"

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"I didn't-"

"I know, and we're here," he told her, as he pulled up and cut the engine, pocketing the set of keys in the pocket of his jeans. Buffy merely gave a solemn nod, saying nothing, as she began to exit the vehicle, slamming the door a little too loudly behind her. Spike winced at the point of impact, the very thought of one of his most prized possessions being the subject of her attack getting to him a lot more than he thought it would. If he'd just shut his gob in the first place, or better yet, simply given her an honest answer, she probably wouldn't have taken out her wrath on his baby. He almost wished he'd just knocked himself upside the head for showing poor judgment in behaving like such an inconsiderate prick again.

He'd forgotten that she could in all likelihood sense it.

"Buffy."

"Not hearing you," she said quietly. "You're tuning me out on purpose, anyway, so maybe I should be grateful I'm able to do the same with you."

"Tuning you out?"

"Whatever that getting-in-touch-with-your-feelings thingy was with us, I think I just lost it," the slayer confessed. "It started getting dimmer and dimmer and then it just...disappeared. I thought you'd found a way to block me or something."

"No."

"But you don't have it, either."

"Can't say as I do right now. But-"

"I couldn't even sense you last night. Granted, it's a little different, but the stuff with spotting vampires is supposed to stay. You said slayers usually always have it and it helps them be better fighters."

"It does, but you were also off your game after that brawl we participated in, so it's natural to assume you've just been a bit off kilter since then. It's not uncommon, and it's no surprise you aren't exactly feeling things at regular intervals, either. Your system's just a bit wonky, is all. Thrown yourself a tad off course. It's nothing to worry about."

"Yet," she reminded him. "I haven't even been having the dreams."

"Father Doyle seems to think that-"

"Yeah," she cut him off. "Father Doyle. We don't even know a lot about him. He says he's been there a couple of years, but Tara didn't even recognize him."

"_Tara_ also informed us she hasn't been to mass in quite some time, so your suspicions are rendered somewhat irrelevant in this case. The boy wouldn't have been as helpful if he hadn't meant it. He didn't have any reason to bend over backward for us."

"You let Xander know what time we were meeting him, didn't you?" she asked then, abruptly altering course on the subject once she realized they appeared to be the only ones present at the intended location. A woman passed by carrying some groceries in two cloth bags, followed by an elderly man holding a large cup of coffee in Styrofoam- but a certain detective in question was apparently nowhere to be found. Buffy wondered if he'd up and changed his mind after all. He'd hadn't exactly been overly thrilled by the prospect last night.

The gallery, on the other hand, loomed in front of her like a great big blast from the past that she hadn't seen since the night before she'd been arrested for her mother's murder. The windows remained as spotless as they had seven years ago, and while it had never been a fairly imposing structure, its architecture had also remained perfectly intact. She knew now that she owed a great deal of gratitude to Giles for making sure it stayed this way. It was almost like entering some kind of crazy time warp that had successfully transported her back to a period when things had been simpler and she'd been a normal, crazy teenage girl with dreams and ambitions of her own. If things had worked out as planned, she would've been done at the university of her choice and gainfully employed in some nine to five job with perks galore. Vacations to places like The Bahamas or Tahiti, or even some insane whirlwind romance where a man she'd fallen hopelessly in love with swept her off her feet and whisked her away on a honeymoon to Paris.

She had a man- sort of. If a vampire actually counted in that equation, she could see Spike as being the type to take her wherever she wanted to go. It was highly probably he'd already visited Paris for more years than she'd actually been alive. He loved her, too. So much. There was no way she could deny it anymore. While his track record was quite shoddy with the women he'd formed associations with before he'd met her, she had it on good authority that he hadn't exactly run around the city shouting it from the rooftops with them. It was just her. Only her. In truth, she'd gotten really lucky there. She was taken by a gorgeous guy with a great car who just happened to consume a mug of warm blood for breakfast in the morning.

It may have been incredibly bizarre to an outsider, but to her it had become home.

Just like the gallery should've been in all its immaculate glory- when in reality it couldn't be any more foreign to her if it tried.

"Buffy."

She blinked and saw two blue eyes studying her with some uncertainty, the concern in them very much evident. "Huh?"

"Need you alert, pet. I can't seem to get a hold of Harris, so we're just gonna go on ahead without him. Rupert gave me his spare card to access the place. You sure you're okay with this?"

"I'm getting seriously fed up with people asking me that."

"You were just off in your own little corner of the world starin' into space not five seconds ago. Taking that bit of info into lawful consideration, is it any wonder that they do?"

"I'm okay," she stated. "A little terrified, but okay. It's...well, it's been awhile since I've been back, and I guess I-"

"You should've let Tara take a crack at one of her spells for you," he suggested, as he slipped the identification card in through the slot beside the front entrance, waiting patiently for it to grant him access to the establishment. When he heard the lock free itself, he opened the door for her and allowed her to go first, his hands reaching to adjust the lighting that covered the vast area that encompassed them. The floor was polished and squeaky clean, and there wasn't a speck of dust to be had. The pieces that remained on display on the walls and easels within the general vicinity ranged from impressive to dreadfully boring, prompting Spike to call the very definition of art into question, compelling him to survey them with a fairly critical eye.

He'd observed more than his fair share of paintings in his extremely long life, but nothing came close to some of the horrors he was witnessing in here. He'd always greatly preferred representational over abstract, and despite his own undead status, had been fairly taken with subjects or objects that spoke of the very foundation reality was essentially composed of- at least in comparison to the various lines and shapes abstract had consistently used to try and speak to him with. The vampire understood that it was simply another form to express reality in a way that differed from his own, although he'd perhaps seen more than enough of that side to far outweigh the curse of his immortality.

The only exception he'd ever permitted in the way of the non-objective variety, was a Jackson Pollock Rupes had featured proudly on his wall about three years ago when he'd paid a visit to his mentor at his apartment. Number One, 1948, he recalled. It had spoken to him in such a way that garnered his immediate interest and held it, which was a rare feat in and of itself. He'd wanted to ask him for it, but wasn't sure Giles would've felt like parting with something that could well have been a gift. The striking piece had given Spike a kind of freedom he hadn't felt since Dru had turned him.

A freedom he was only starting to experience again with Buffy.

"I completely overlooked how much she put into this place," she offered, grinning, as she clasped her hands together and brought her fingertips to her lips. "From out there, it makes you remember all the bad stuff, but the minute you step inside, it's..."

"Captivating," he filled in for her. "For the most part, anyway. Your mum had a real knack for this."

"She really did. It always meant so much to her. I remember when she'd spend her nights here, just rechecking inventory. She was always so thorough and had to make sure she got it just right."

"Had a lot of customers, too, I'd guess." Spike adored the way her pretty face lit up when she spoke of the other woman, her hands beginning to move animatedly around her, the heart that continued to lie dormant in him somehow managing to share in her pleasure. She was truly something to behold and the picture she made was something he never wanted to forget.

"It looks like Giles must've put all the sculptures in the back. She used to carry about five or six of them out here to try and attract potential buyers. She'd bait them, and when they'd ask to see more, she was only too happy to go in the back and bring out a dozen."

He laughed. "Wager that's where you get your determination from."

"You're probably right," she reasoned softly. She traced the silver frame of a piece depicting an empty field surrounded by bright sunlight, the colors a mix of greens, yellows, oranges, and blues, its beauty fairly reminiscent of the way the rays would stream in through the bedroom window at his cottage.

"You'll see her again," he promised.

"Sometimes I think that's true," she acceded, nodding. "But here we are and, hey, no portal. Just a normal little gallery sitting in a normal little building. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. It doesn't exactly do wonders when you're on the train of optimism trying to be all, well..."

"Optimistic?"

"Yeah. Which sounds so stupid, you know?"

"It's not," Spike vouched quickly. "What would be stupid is if we didn't even bother to try."

"I kept thinking of how I can pay you back for all you've done for me," she started. "I didn't really have an answer until now. I mean, how do you do something nice for someone who doesn't want or expect it? You've probably seen so much already." She gently lifted the painting inside the silver frame that she'd been admiring, and held it out to him, urging him to take it. "It's always been one of my favorites and she's never been able to sell it."

"Buffy."

"Take it. Please?"

"Can't," he uttered, "and it's not that I don't want to. I just...give it to me after we make it through this, yeah? Wouldn't be right to take something so precious away from you. Want you alive and well with Adlam out of the buggering picture. 'Sides, you're not going anywhere, anyway, so I'll be countin' on you to let me hang that at my place where we can pass it every time we go down the blooming hall after a night of blissful shagging."

"You say the dumbest things." But she was chuckling in spite of it, her eyes watering up with tears as she sniffled briefly, setting the painting down by laying it flat on the floor and swiping at her nose.

"Bloody hell."

She looked up and met a very different expression, his handsome visage pained as he pushed towards her, one hand steadying her as it wrapped itself around her waist, the other carefully tilting her chin upward. Buffy fought to shrug out of his grip, but didn't quite make it, her entire body feeling faint as she crumbled to her knees. "Spike?"

"I've got you," he spoke in hushed tones, his thumbs caressing her now, as each hand moved in to cup her cheeks, trying to keep his hands from shaking as the red droplets spilled from her eyes and began to soak into the canvas of the painting that rested at her feet. A river of scarlet took the place of the barren field, enveloping it in darkness as it gradually took shape, swirling to life with the rich, metallic scent of the substance that determined his own survival. "Buffy? Love?"

Caught in a trace not all that dissimilar to the one she'd been trapped in at her mother's house, the miniscule slayer reached over and plunged a hand into the blood addled painting, her fingers stretching into the maroon depths and coating her in the liquid that had dispersed itself directly from the tear ducts of her eyes. When she pulled it out again, she was clutching a long golden sword with a silver hilt, its tip glinting brightly as she gripped it with both hands and painstakingly raised it skyward. Tumbling back on her butt, she let the object clatter to the floor while she hastily scrambled away from it, her apprehension catching up with her as she simply stared at it with wide, green eyes, her breathing heavy.

"Buffy." Gathering her into his arms, Spike crouched into a sitting position and began to rock her, oblivious to the blood that now drenched their clothes with its overpowering smell, his vampiric senses kicking into overdrive when he visibly shifted into game face- only to revert back almost immediately to his human form as he vied madly for control.

"I felt her."

"Felt who?" he inquired, as he reached down and bestowed her forehead with a kiss, smoothing back her hair with bloody fingers.

"My mom."

"You don't have-"

"She's still alive," she pressed, "but she's hurting. I couldn't get to her. I wanted to, but he wouldn't let me. He knows we're close now. Too close."

"If by close, you mean that we're about to crush his plans for sodding world domination, I'm with you, sweet bit, but first you've got to learn how to wield that thing. We haven't covered swords yet, and it's a far cry from a flimsy little dagger."

"Doyle was half right then," she proclaimed lazily, still coming down from the high she'd just experienced.

"So he was," he mused. "You sure you're-"

"Yeah. I am."

"Good, 'cuz we're gonna have to get cleaned up."

"Sorry about the painting."

He would've laughed if he hadn't been convinced of her sincerity. "Small price to pay. Your mum have a washroom in here, by any chance?"

"Her office," Buffy clarified, letting him draw her upright. She was entirely unprepared when he reached over and scooped her up into his arms, heading beyond the foyer and along a short hallway before stopping at a closed door with a familiar nameplate nailed to it. He shoved the card through yet another slot and waited while it confirmed and approved their presence. The bathroom was just off to the right and boasted a compact shower, sink and toilet. Joyce clearly hadn't gone cheap when she'd ordered its construction.

Gingerly dropping her to the floor, Spike set her on the toilet seat and began to peel off the sweater she wore, her tank top and bra following it. Unable to wait for her permission, his blood stained fingers probed her skin for any wounds she may have incurred, breathing an unintentional sigh of relief when he found none. He waited until she'd lifted up a bit before removing her shoes, jeans and panties- and last, but not least, her white socks. She raised a brow when she noticed he had yet to do anything about his own attire, but he ordered her under the spray just the same, programming in a decent temperature and telling her to take as much time as she needed. He'd found some unopened containers of soap with a lengthy date of use scrawled upon them and managed to uncover a sealed bag with an assortment of sponges in his short, but efficient quest.

Leaving the door open so he could hear her, he went back to the main floor and retrieved the sword she'd recovered from the painting, holding it firmly in his left hand as he went about studying it more intricately. Its origins were as yet undetermined, but he remembered Doyle saying something about a well-respected deity being responsible for its creation, and how it had been forged after learning poor Adlam likely sold his sodding soul for less than a penny to achieve his disturbing definition of profound greatness. Maybe, just maybe, this would indeed prove to be his very undoing.

It almost sounded far too simple- though it could also be argued that some lived by a sword and died by one, too.

Spike just didn't think it applied to highly skilled magicians with a flair for devastation and murder. He was more interested in running the blade through Angelus and watching the ponce squirm. It wouldn't kill him, but it would temporarily derail him. The thought of his sire's lover aching and in pain proved to be quite the welcome distraction. The vampire set the sword down upon Joyce's desk and went about pulling out a long white towel from a drawer just outside the bathroom that contained a collection of various linens in it. When the water came to a stop a short while later, he sauntered into the room for the second time, his blues tracking her as she parted the sliding door and emerged, her bare body dripping wet from head to foot.

Buffy gratefully accepted the towel and worked on drying herself off with it, securing it safely around her chest. "Didn't exactly think that far ahead with an extra set of clothes," he embarrassingly admitted, as he shoved a hand through his blonde hair. "Your mum has a few white and cream colored button downs in the drawer above the one with the towels, but-"

"No worries," she said quietly, already extremely humbled that he'd even thought of it. "She always did try and keep some stuff here when she'd work late. I guess it finally paid off. They'll probably be a little big on me, but I'm sure I can find something."

"Scared me half to death, you did."

"With you, that's obviously an understatement."

"We should talk about it, though. Get it out into the open."

"What would we talk about?" she returned, confused. "I pulled a sword from somebody's finely crafted artwork and destroyed it with tears of blood."

"For starters, I'd like to find the sodding artist. Couldn't see any kind of signature earlier, but the blood might've washed it away."

"Maybe we could take the sword to Giles. He's pretty much knowledge guy in that department and can tell us if it has an actual name or where we could look to find one. He might know who painted the- it would be in the records, right? He's great at keeping them, especially at his library."

"Rupes is more or less wallowing right now, so I doubt it'd be the best course of action to take. I've half a mind to take him and shake some bleeding sense into him, but I assume the only thing he'll be able to point us to is a bottle or two of old scotch."

"Could you...I...I mean if it's not any trouble..."

"Get you a shirt and a pair of trousers? Right." He nodded, and nimbly moved out of view. Buffy could hear another drawer opening, and a slight grunt of disapproval as he appeared to be struggling with his limited set of choices. Still a little jittery from the ordeal she'd previously been thrust into, the slayer stepped up and out of the tub and rounded the corner, a petite hand enclosing itself around his shoulder blade.

"Spike."

"You were gonna give me that painting, Goldilocks."

"I know, and I-"

"Your other connection may have faded, but there's still something between us. Can't pretend anymore."

"There is," she acknowledged. "But you don't need to take the fall for this. If I hadn't gone and been all persistent Buffy about the whole painting deal in the first place, we probably would've given up and left."

He stood, holding a white button down long sleeve shirt and a pair of black slacks, hesitantly releasing the hold she had on her towel as it tumbled to the ground. She met his lingering gaze and silently held out her arms, waiting as he delicately slipped it on and threaded them through it, his hands pausing before bringing the third button through the loop. Leaving the first and second one undone, he straightened out her collar and dutifully shifted his attention to the fourth, fifth, and the others that followed, his fingers not entirely steady. Tapping the back of her knees, she lifted each of her legs for him and watched as he slipped them into the pants, bringing them up over her naked bottom and securing the single button at her waist. They were still a bit loose there, but rather than toy with the gap in measurements, he simply went and rolled them up to her ankles to instead try and compensate for the noticeable difference in height. "Might want to find a fresh pair of knickers at the cottage," he advised. "I'll grab some clean clothes of my own when we get there."

"I'm still me, you know. You don't have to-"

"Could've lost you today."

"You didn't."

"But I could've," he contended, his voice firm.

"I'm right here, Spike." She ran her fingers through his hair, tussling his curls. "I do have a new theory, though. If you'll stop being Mr. Overly Protective, maybe I could share it."

"Theory?" he repeated.

"Tara told Lorne she was trying to locate Ashford, but her spell was having a weird magnet effect on her, bouncing her from place to place. It always came back here. What if it's because this whole place has some...magical transference thingy going on?"

"Our portal's not in a painting, love."

"I know that. I'm nowhere near as well-versed as Tara is, but maybe all it would take is a simple spell. Maybe Adlam was trying to counteract some kind of shield Giles had up and the results made it all go a little kerflooey."

"Kerflooey."

"For lack of a better word, yes. Kerflooey. It's possible, isn't it?"

"We'll get in touch with Tara. I'll have her ask Lorne to bring me my clothes- see if she can't do the same for you, as you're already floating in these. Adorably, that is."

"Says the man who's a bloody mess," she gibed, ruffling his hair again.


	34. Chapter 34: With Might and Main

Chapter Thirty-Four: With Might and Main

_Art Gallery_

9:48 AM

"All right, so not only has no one at that parish ever heard of your new 'man of the cloth' confidant Father Doyle, but a Father _Galvin_ was on hand to conduct mass this morning. Tara said that he verified the story about O'Carroll sleeping like a baby in a hospital bed due to his own drunken stupidity. Drunkenness, mind you, that was likely brought on by stress that went beyond the call of Our Lord, and that's about as far as it goes. It's safe to assume he flipped out over his little...well, maybe shrine is too kind a word, huh? According to Giles' former girlfriend and computer extraordinaire, there aren't even any records on Allen Francis Doyle, let alone evidence that he lives or has ever lived nearby. It might not even be his real name, and she wasn't able to track anything down after hacking into facial recognition, either. Of course, since the ban, their database probably isn't what it used to be, anyway. To make an already long story shorter, Miss Maclay's sketch scored a big fat zero for us. There's absolutely no trace of him."

Spike laughed as he toyed with the pack of cigarettes in his hand, his blues studying the painting in front of him with vague interest, his thoughts remaining thoroughly conflicted and at an obvious impasse. "Fantastic."

Lorne rolled his eyes, frantically waving a hand in front of the vampire as a perturbed frown etched itself against his face. "Fantastic? That's it? That's the end of it? I just went and informed you that everything I've told you indicates your priest is a cousin of Casper and you're standing there contemplating à la Hamlet regarding a potential health risk that doesn't even affect immortality. I never should've gone into that store for you in full disguise mode. Not to mention, I don't think your lovely slayer would approve of you lighting up in here and using her mother's gallery as a temporary ashtray."

"Forgot to mention the clothes."

"Clothes..."

"Grateful for the extra pair, mate," he told him honestly, his frame clad in a gray sweater over a black t-shirt and a pair of clean jeans. "But I'm also not entirely shocked to high bloody heaven about our knowledgeable priest being one of The Powers That Be. Pretty clever sendin' one of their own down here to assist us. Bloke more or less gave me the run-around about the human bit, too. Turns out he never was."

"Yeah, and the audacity to peg you as a vampire," the demon drawled sarcastically. "Although, the part about the athame still gets me."

"The ponce fed us a line. He was just a guide. There were never any visions about sodding athames, and our prized dagger was a great big sword. They reached her through her mum's art. Needed her to find it, and needed her to find it fast. Unfortunately, it could've killed her."

"Which means time is of the essence now," Lorne reminded him. "If Buffy felt Joyce when she was embracing her inner magic, it means your sorcerer in question's probably just as close."

"Sorcerer's too kind a word," Spike insisted rather bluntly. "I'm more prone to a poor imitation of a blooming magician who thinks he's Satan's gift to destroying the world."

"That works, too. Bet you're also kicking yourself in the tush for contacting the Caretaker now."

"Wasn't entirely wasted," Spike disputed, shrugging, as he promptly pocketed the cigarettes. "According to Ethan, even if Buffy's Watcher would've made it here in one piece and located her as his charge, it was probably only to inform her he was nothing more than a coward and was about to pass off his duties as same."

"What about the slayer before her?" Lorne asked him. "She was supposed to be here, too, right? So maybe one of these guys was concerned enough to actually defend and look after one of these girls."

"Yeah," he mused, shrugging. "Thing of it is, we'll never know. Just...promise me something, will you?"

"What's that, friend?"

"If I don't make it through this, take care of her. Protect her. Make sure she's..." He straightened, crossing his arms over his chest as he rocked back upon the balls of his feet, his eyes still gracing the painting framed by bronze on the wall. "Watch over her."

"Okay, you're starting to scare me." Lorne moved in a bit closer to him, mindful of keeping his voice low. "What's going on? I feel like I've just won a free vacation and someone forgot to read me the clause underneath the fine print."

"I know of a place Angelus used to frequent. Seeing as he's been making himself quite comfy these days, I figured I should entertain his hospitality and pay him a visit. Catch up on old times. I'd wager he'd prove rather receptive to the idea once he reacquaints himself with some pain again. He always liked pain. Well...causin' it, anyway."

"Whoa, hey, easy there, soldier. I don't think deliberately goading your old pal from your less than pleasant family history is the best way to go about this. I realize you won't be satisfied until you pound his face into the ground with your fists, but you can do that later. We still need to find out who painted that not-so-nice picture that almost swallowed your lady love whole into a sea of blood. Priority numero uno."

"And her magical transference? Where does that rate in your list of things to do?"

"From what I know about the concept of transference, it's just a flashy term amateur magicians use to indicate misdirection. It makes him sound a lot smarter than he actually is. If we're talking magic shows where no real magic is actually implemented, it means he goes about messing with the audience by having them focus on one thing, when in reality something else entirely is happening right under their noses. It's how they perform tricks to maintain a living when they're nowhere near proficient in attempting the real McCoy. It's been around for years. The ban would've prevented using legitimate spells when it went into effect, and they took the liberty of knocking each magician down a peg, regardless of the level they were performing at. A lot of jobs were lost so they could get to the bottom of it and find the ones who practiced for real. As a man of the law, you're probably up to speed on the specs for that." Lorne offered a prolonged sigh. "If Buffy's convinced Adlam was using this place to try and get to whatever dimension he's been passing through undetected, it means he failed to penetrate a shield of some sort. That would explain your magnet stuff, too. But it wouldn't just be a simple spell he's using."

"Calendar said Rupes has already confirmed the shield. Best of the best, too."

"Then you can bet he'll be trying it again if his strength's returned to maximum capacity. If it were just a piece of cake, he would've already cracked it no sweat. It's probably why your Powers from above had to put a rush on it and send their gift special delivery. The coven's already provided a helping hand and you needed another intervention. Either way you look at it, your insanely evil former Watcher has business here. Whether or not that business leads to a place filled with fire and brimstone is speculation for another day. It could be he wants in to a dimension he can't seem to open a portal to just yet. If he senses the energy is rife here...well, watch out."

"The artist was local," Spike muttered. "Some bird named B.T. Patterson. Hasn't done anything in at least a decade, and enjoys the quiet life with her hubby and two nibblets. I imagine there's a dog involved, too."

"You're just full of fun things to show and tell today, aren't you?" Lorne countered.

"While we waited for you, the slayer and I found some records of the inventory Joyce catalogued into the system. It was all still there, tidy as ever. Now that we know it was more or less randomly chosen, whoever painted the sodding thing is of no consequence. The Powers targeted it after she tried to give it to me."

His jaw nearly plummeted to the floor. "She tried to give you one of her mother's paintings?"

"She did," he drawled morosely, itching for a cigarette again. "What of it?"

"Oh, only that it's basically the equivalent of her asking if she can spend the rest of her life with you, accept no substitutes. But go ahead, carry on. I think you were really getting somewhere with this. I was entirely riveted by your denial."

"That's reaching- and far, at best. The incentive would've meant a hell of a lot more if she'd painted it herself."

"You're only saying that because you couldn't accept it. Am I right?"

"What, are you my conscience now?" He pulled out the cheaply made lighter Lorne had grabbed along with his pack of smokes, and began to flick it on and off rather incessantly, his nerves on the verge of betraying him. "It's just...God knows why this is so difficult for me. I'm a bleeding master vampire who spent a large part of my early existence fightin' to the death of it. But in all that time, no one's ever done anything quite like that for me before. Not like I shut her down completely or anything. Told her we could hang it on the wall and pass by it on occasion when-"

"William Pratt, ever the romantic."

"Am not. I just...I want her to defeat this bastard before we start whatever it is we'll start when this is good and sodding finished, all right?"

"You're still going, aren't you?"

"Does it matter? The lot of you can research the sword that was supposed to be a dagger without me. It's not that hard. Break Rupert out of his shell and bring him in on the fun, too."

"You're not even gonna tell her you're leaving." Lorne only shook his head. "Are you? She's the most important thing in your life right now, and you can actually contemplate leaving her again. It's a dangerous road, mon ami. But then again, what do I know? As daunting a prospect as this may seem, you should really think about singing for me. All things considered, I don't think your voice would be half bad, and I mean that from the depths of my very soul."

Spike smiled. "How long have we known each other, you wager?"

"Regardless of my answer, it still never stops you from rushing in like a big jerk to do stupid things. That woman in there loves you with all her heart and you're about to stomp on it and crush it to bits and pieces because you can't wait to nip this in whatever bud it needs to be nipped in."

He placed the lighter back in his pocket and turned to his friend, his expression fairly somber. "It's true she could still stand to train more, and I won't deny that her skills are more than a bit rusty after her first real brawl, but what else is she gonna learn that I haven't already taught her? We could study swords and crossbows and the whole bloody lot until we turn blue. Against someone like Adlam, it's still-"

"I thought you weren't about giving up," a voice sounded to his right, the topic of their discussion standing a few feet away in a pink sweater and jeans, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. So tight he feared she'd soon draw blood. "That you were all about fighting for the cause you believe in and cared about the mission. _Our_ mission."

He contemplated moving toward her, but decided against it when she opted to take a step back. Anything too sudden would probably set her right off. "I do, love. You know I do."

"Then your sire's stupid lover shouldn't be taking precedence over-"

"I'm tryin' to end this. You might not see it right now, but you don't know Angelus like I do. While it may have already been specified that you, in particular, were off limits, he's not one to back down with another confrontation with a slayer. It haunts and intrigues him and pretty soon he'll want a taste. The closer we get, the closer _he_ gets. Doesn't matter if Adlam believes he's pulling all the puppet strings. Once Angelus gets it in his noggin that he can do what he does best and at his very worst, then that's what he'll do."

"So you're gonna listen to some flunky he turned vamp to rile you up and piss you off?"

"That _flunky_ may have been talking out of his ass, pet, but he wasn't that far off base."

"Then you can kick mine."

He just stared at her, dumbfounded. "Beg your pardon?"

"You should have an extra sword stored away in your own collection, right? You can take one and show me how to use mine. There must be some reason why I was supposed to find it, right? I mean beyond your usual beating the bad guy and running it through him schtick."

"Afraid it's not that simple."

"Well _make_ it that simple," she asserted.

"You're missing the meaning here, Slayer." He straightened, very nearly at breaking point with how vulnerable she looked standing beside him despite her overall stance being poised for attack. "If we don't play this just right, you won't have much to defend yourself with once we find Adlam. Being handy with a sword won't stop Dru or Angelus from tryin' to take you on, and who's to say it'll even work on Merlin himself if he's as immortal as we believe he is. Timing is everything."

"We don't have any left," Buffy pressed. "It's now, Spike. It's _right_ now. You've shown me what you could, but I think it's time you let me handle this. Don't you?"

He heard Lorne deliberately clear his throat and only sighed in spite of the obvious fact that he didn't need to. "Then you'll fail. Whatever courage you've got stored up there won't be enough to save you. You may be the Chosen One, but even if-"

"You're trying to get me upset so I'll let you go find Angelus," she informed him, brutally cutting him off. "But the vampire I know wouldn't be like this if he knew what I was really made of. A lot of who a slayer is, is pure instinct, right? You taught me that. Sometimes all the training in this messed up world can't prepare you for what's coming. Besides, there has to be another reason why Adlam hasn't done anything else to us yet, especially if he's returned to full power. Tara seems to think the deity that's responsible for blessing my handy little sword is also the key to entering our portal. It's probably why our guy was doing everything he could to break Giles' shield. But seeing as it was only meant for me, he would've had to exert even more power to obtain it. Maybe power he wasn't aware he'd never have."

"You think by imparting some wisdom on me it's gonna miraculously make me change my bloody mind? I've heard the same story before, Buffy, and so help me, I'm not prepared to lose you just yet. Don't know how I can possibly make it any more clear, but you've practically become my world. To hell with this one. If I didn't think you were what mattered most to me, I wouldn't be tryin' so hard to prevent you from making a choice you'll likely regret as soon as you make it. You can't just turn back and start over again 'cuz you screwed up. There's no do-over, Goldilocks. It's death and sod all else."

"I know that."

"Do you?"

"As much as I hate to intercede on a certain someone's behalf here, I think she might actually be-"

"No," Spike snapped, immediately reeling on his friend. "You don't get to decide that. This is between me and her."

"That might be, champ, but what she's saying actually makes sense. If you really loved her as much as you say you do, you wouldn't be so quick to call her out on it. You'd let her do what needs to be done. Do you think everybody that's fought for something they believed in was all set for what would happen to them when it came down to the wire? There's no way to know unless you give it your all and hope for the best. It's what she was born to do, and there isn't a single doubt in my mind that the slayers before her did it, too."

Buffy walked up to the vampire, framing his face in her hands as she stood on her tiptoes, her green eyes firm and unyielding. "I'm yours, you know that. But you don't own me or what I do. Whatever decisions I make aren't always subject to your approval. My mom is still out there and she's hurting, and if we don't do something now, whatever opportunity we had is gonna disappear. I found that sword when I did for a reason, and I think whoever let us find it is giving us their okay. We need to move and you need to trust me."

"I do trust you, love."

She narrowed her gaze as she continued to study him, her thumb brushing across his lower lip. "You do?" It was leaning more toward a statement, and it was riddled with disbelief.

"I just don't know if I'll trust myself enough not to do something rash once we get there."

"You do that, and I might have to hurt you," she concluded plainly.

"Spoken like a true woman," Lorne acknowledged.

"I think I've got what w-we need," Tara announced softly, as she approached them with some uneasiness, a large book cradled in her grasp. "I've already given Buffy a little something extra, and it should help her when she gets there. You should probably take whatever you need to defend yourselves, too, because I'm not sure the s-same rules will apply there. I just tried doing another spell to determine Adlam's whereabouts, and aside from the usual results bouncing back here, I don't think he's currently occupying this plane at the moment. We'll have to hurry."

"Bugger it," the vampire quipped. "He's just a regular old trickster, ain't he? If he's-"

He paused as the lights dimmed a fraction, raising his brows in confusion as he directed his blue eyes heavenward, the floor at his feet rumbling slightly beneath his combat boots. Without even thinking, he dove towards the sword perched up against the wall and handed it to Buffy, gently wrapping her fingers around the handle as he placed it in her hand. There was the briefest of flickers as a transparent mass of air passed through the length of the building, seemingly ridding itself of whatever precautions it had met with previously, and leaving itself cloaked in an obvious state of vulnerability. The glass shattered the front window as it erupted into the street, and the sky gradually grew darker, lapsing into night and consuming the remnants of day.

The figure that stepped over the broken glass as he entered grinned rather broadly, his long black coat trailing behind as he surveyed the damage with such casual nonchalance, his smug expression only widening as he waved a single hand over the gallery's interior, causing all four bodies in it to collapse tiredly to the floor in a state of dreamlike perfection. "Real shame those shields just aren't what they used to be." He motioned quite rapidly to the men who'd followed him in, indicating the unconscious forms below. "Let's get what we came for, boys, and get out of here. Ash doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Half tempted, he slowly crouched down and studied the small blonde girl that had made everything possible, her hand still clutching a sword he'd only ever heard about in the tightest and most exclusive of circles. She was going to be a handful, but once he convinced his new friend and ally just how much fun they'd be able to have with her between the two of them, he might see it in himself to share. Trailing a long finger between her breasts, he carefully reached out and drew her up and into his arms, waiting until one of the others grabbed the sword. Two more roughly hoisted Spike over their shoulders and began hauling him away.

"Pleasant dreams, Willy."

Pleasant wasn't the word for it an hour later when the blonde vampire finally stirred and awoke, the distant sound of running water filling his eardrums on top of being kindly gifted with an exceedingly painful headache in his already uncomfortable state. He was standing upright, his wrists bound by thick silver chains above his head, his body clothed in only a pair of jeans. His chest and feet were entirely bare, and his toes dragged along the damp concrete. His jaw felt like it had been smashed into a million tiny pieces, and the room he was in was so dark he couldn't seem to pinpoint where exactly he was and how he'd gotten there. He remembered falling to his knees before everything had gone black, and the most he could recall from that encounter did little to explain the why and how of it, but he had a sinking suspicion he knew the who.

"You know, I figured I'd at least call first, but considering how we left it, I wasn't sure you'd pick up."

Spike directed an annoyed scowl at him as his captor picked himself up and began coming towards him, playfully tossing a small knife back and forth in his hands.

"She thinks about you, you know. Dru? Every waking hour, too. But then I just go and bang it right out of her, and sometimes she actually stays quiet long enough to enjoy it. The two of us were everything, and now she's gone and made it all about you again. You, you, you. She's got it in her messed up head that she needs you to make her world right again. The play just isn't complete without its big Broadway star. The pixies are whispering to her and telling her things and she wouldn't shut her trap until we found you."

"Can't get it up like you used to?" Spike taunted. "Never could satisfy her the way I could, Liam. Guess it's no wonder you're here doing all those horrible deeds for the same wanker you cut down to size eons ago after you murdered his girl. Speaking of size, though, I'd go so far as to openly suggest you've always been compensating for something there, too."

He felt the vicious backhand before he saw it, smiling before spitting out blood. "Talk a good game, you do. But that's all it is- talk. You couldn't drum up a decent plan in your noggin if you tried. Never were the big brains. You were just hungry for the kill."

"This is really shaping up to be quite the reunion," Angelus deadpanned. "So much better than I pictured it. Not that it'll really matter anymore when your slayer's gone and dead and you've been beaten, stabbed, staked and set on fire in the most excruciating way possible, but she's still a little woozy over there and she's awaiting final judgment as we speak. I told him to go a little easy on her, though, because she won't be any good to us if she's wasted all of that precious energy. Great spirit. Beautiful. Too bad we'll have to snuff it out of her. Put up quite a fight before they tossed her in here, so I think he might make good on his promise to take a go or two before he ends it. Wants to bring Mom in to watch."

"_Yeah_." He chuckled, finding his own amusement in it in spite of his own dire predicament. "Best of luck with that, mate. Chit's still as stubborn as the day I met her and she'll put you and yours through the bloody ringer before she lets you lay a hand on her."

Angelus shrugged. "I heard you already got there first. Or, you know, maybe that honor belongs to the guys who took her in jail. I bet she's quite the animal in the sack."

"Well, if you're gonna try and kill me or pass the time by putting me through endless chitchat while you drone on like the poor excuse for a poofter you are, at least pick one and get on with it so you can tell me where the hell I am."

"In a galaxy...far, far away."

"Fancy that. Thought you'd bleeding up and lost your sense of humor there for a bit."

"Take it easy, Spike, because from here on out, things are about to get _very_ interesting." He inspected the knife he still held, holding it up despite the blackness that bathed the length of the room. "You know, I think I need something bigger. I hear drills are in these days. Nothing like a great big hole in the head. You just…hang in there and I'll be right back. As a courtesy to you, I could even let you pick."

The door re-opened and closed, the lock mechanism sliding into place and activating itself once again. Spike angled his body a bit further to the right, noticing Buffy's unconscious form for the first time, her ankles bound by cuffs attached to another chain as thick as his own, her slender frame clad in a dirty white tank top, bra and a pair of knickers. Her pants had been removed, as well as her socks and shoes. A long scratch occupied her right cheek, the dried blood sealing it yet leaving a noticeable mark. Part of her bottom lip was swollen and bruised, and she had a small cut above her left eyebrow, her long blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. It pained him to see her that broken, and it broke _him_ to realize it was deliberate. Wherever Adlam was hiding out and buying his time, he knew how to cut her down so she was nothing again.

Just like she'd been in prison when the guards had helped themselves to her to feed their own selfish cause.

Not now. Not if he could help it.

For one, she wasn't alone anymore.

"Buffy."

She stirred rather briefly, her eyes still closed, and the fingers of her right hand twitching rather subtly as she moaned. She was uncomfortably propped up against a cold, concrete wall, her head lolling to the side and aborting her misguided attempt to gain a better handle on her new surroundings.

"Slayer."

Two pools of green snapped open, and she steadily began the task of focusing on his face, trying in vain to lift herself before noticing the way the chains bound her in place, greatly limiting her movement.

"Spike?"

"Are you okay, love? Everything in perfect workin' order?"

"Wasted too much time," she said quietly. "Found us."

"They did, which is why you're not gonna quit on me just yet. Look, just sit tight for a mo, all right? Be over there in a bit."

She giggled, reeling from the effects of whatever it was they'd given her to put her out for a tad, the effects only just beginning to wear off. "Sitting tight. Be over in a bit."

Spike winced as he set his sights on the metal bar above his head, cursing loudly before nimbly swinging his legs up and over it so that he was hanging upside down, the shackles straining against him. Shifting the bones in his wrists until he heard two distinct cracks, he was able to pull himself free of the impediment relatively fluidly, much like he had after Lockley's restraints had been slapped across him at the mini mart.

It seemed like so long ago.

Reaching up and clamping his hands over the bar, he agilely swung his feet to the floor, the chains clattering around him. Rushing to the slayer's side, he brushed the hair out of her eyes as her head doubled forward again, taking her chin between his index finger and thumb. "Buffy, pet, you've got to wake up. We have to go."

"Go where?" she whispered. "I'm just so tired, Spike."

"I know, sweet bit. But we've gotta move."

He gingerly pried her legs apart, noting with some relief that she wasn't bloody and didn't appear to have been touched in any way aside from the injuries she'd taken to her pretty face. Using his last remaining ounce of strength, he bent and widened the cuffs just enough so that she could slip through him, pulling her upright and holding her against his side. "If circumstances were different, I'd tell you wear that cute ensemble around the house more often."

"My hero," she lovingly proclaimed.

"Focus, yeah? We have to try and find a-"

"How'd you do that?"

"Over the years, you learn to tolerate extreme pain," he explained impatiently. "The kind of pain Angelus apparently thrives on. Allows you to see what you're really made of, although not necessarily to this extent. See, he had a real knack for causing it, just...couldn't withstand it like I could. Too busy tryin' to see the reflection he didn't have. Knew when he brought me in here that those wouldn't hold me, but didn't want to give myself the satisfaction of gloating yet."

She vigorously shook her head, trying in vain to free herself from the fuzzy feeling she felt whenever she tried to process her thoughts. "They didn't hurt me."

"I know, but it's only 'cuz they've supposedly got a plan. Another timetable. Look, you've got that bit of magic Tara gave you before we got here. I want you to see if you can reach out and use it. Shine a bit of a spark in here."

"Let me go."

"Buffy-"

"I'm fine, Spike. It's almost gone, I can feel it. Just let me go so I can do this."

He reluctantly complied with her request, just as a bright burst of light flooded the windowless room and bestowed it with a lovely glow, illuminating even the dankest of crevices. Much to his dismay, there didn't appear to be a single visible means of escape, let alone a way to create one. They were good and trapped, fenced in by wall to wall concrete that extended to the ceiling, cutting them off from anything and everything. The only hope that remained was trying to deactivate the lock that had been securely put into place after Angelus had left, and Spike already surmised it would be a long shot if they didn't skimp on their own security. Neither one of them had come face to face with the man behind seven years of planning and bleeding scheming, but wherever Adlam was holding them was clearly a place he hadn't come by too cheap.

"Bollocks. Look, for future reference, instead of cornering me and yammering nonstop in a shop where we have it on blooming good authority our beastie's tryin' to break through a barrier, just listen to me and do as I say for once. Not that you ever have, or ever will, but it was your girly bickering that got us into this to begin with."

"So now it's my fault," she acceded. "Great, yeah. You had nothing at all to do with it when _you_ were the one who kept telling me I wasn't-"

"No need to get shirty about it, is there?" he shot back. "We're both still here and we need to make the most of it. I don't think they took the others, so what we need to do is find a way to get to your mum and Red and get out of here without being seen. Don't see any cameras in here, but we shouldn't rule anything out. Think you can manage that in the midst of all your complaining, do you?"

"How do you know we're even still on our home planet?"

He rolled his eyes out of habit, as he smoothed a hand over her hair. "We don't. But if the sounds I'm-"

"I can't hear anything."

"Vampire, love. There's running water nearby. Might be about a mile off if I were to go with my first estimate. My initial guess would be that we're in some kind of asylum of sorts, but it's hard to confirm without seeing what lies beyond that door."

"Okay, so attack lock now and navigate after said lock is no longer an issue."

"Right," he affirmed. "On your marks."


	35. Chapter 35: Cut to the Chase

Chapter Thirty-Five: Cut to the Chase

12:11 PM

"Won't bloody budge," Spike murmured, as he sank back helplessly against the wall in utter defeat, crossing his jean clad legs at the ankles. "I'd wager Red found the same to be true if she attempted it wherever they're holding her. Locks aren't exactly her forte. Your mum, on the other hand, wouldn't have even risked it."

"My mom's a pretty strong woman," she objected. "She so would've. I still remember how upfront she used to be when something didn't go right at the gallery. She'd do everything she could to make it right, even if it meant spending a little more out of her own pocket to do it."

He professed a fleeting smirk as she dropped down beside him, enclosing a hand over her bare knee and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "If she's here, we'll find her. We'll find 'em both."

"What about Angelus? You said he could come back."

"It's his warm-up act," he filled in for her. "Know him well enough by now to the point where I can tell if his so-called threats are the least bit valid. He was just tryin' to rile me up about Dru. Thinks I still care for her and can't stand that I'm all she's been talking to him about since they got here."

"And the sharp implements? Granted, I was somewhat out of it, but I thought I heard the word _drill_. Vampire or not, I can't see you with a bunch of holes in your skull and blood gushing all over. Completely gives me the wig with a side helping of eww."

"Way back when, I heard it was chainsaws," he mused, shrugging. "The prissy son of a bitch changes it so much, you'd swear he's run out of sodding ways to be more inventive and own up to the fear his name used to strike in the hearts of many."

"Yes, but inventors rarely wish to save souls. The methods they use to better themselves and the motives under which they operate don't often include sparing the lives of others. It's a rather selfish way of looking at things, if I don't say so myself."

The voice was one Spike had heard several times before, and it carried through the room by a means he was unable to discern, the concrete prison seemingly impossible to penetrate. From top to bottom, there wasn't even the slightest crack present unless he counted the barest smidgeon of one between the lower half of the door and the floor. Seconds later, that door opened, and the man he assumed matched the unfeeling tone that had just addressed him was escorted by four broad-shouldered vampires, their heads completely shaved and their bodies composed of nothing but pure muscle.

"Hold him for just a moment, will you?"

Spike growled and shifted into game face, drawing himself to his feet as he felt a large hand clamp down over each of his arms, pulling him back and moving him out of the way. The blonde man who entered was clothed in a crisp white button down business shirt, black pants, and a pair of beige shoes polished to perfection, his own hands tucked loosely in his pockets. "Timing is indeed everything, Mr. Pratt, and I know you would agree. I've merely been biding mine. You see, when you and your friends thought I'd lost my drive and found me incapable of planning, I've been doing nothing but." He nodded and motioned to the remaining two vampires who stood by his side, watching as they strode over to the half-dressed slayer and brutally yanked her upright, jerking her arms tightly behind her and dragging her over towards the wall. She whimpered slightly, but struggled to maintain an impassive expression, green eyes bravely meeting green. "The borrowed magicks I've given Angelus have started to wear off, and the bothersome pillock has gone to sulk and nurse his wounds. Besides, it's far too early in the day for torture, anyway. He'll feel much more inspired if he saves it for later."

He clasped his hands together, studying his female captive in greater detail, his eyes suggestively trailing the length of her from head to foot. "Ashford Adlam," he stated by way of introduction. "Although, given everything you've been through to find me, dare I assume you were already aware."

"But this, this is the famous slayer I've tried to reach since she was a child," he continued. "A self-assured teen with a real future ahead of herself- shattered by my hand. Your imprisonment was something of a Godsend for me, as I initially believed it would allow me easier access. Unfortunately, someone else intervened before I was able. There's nothing worse than magic that rivals your own. Still, it's a pleasure to finally have a face to go with a name."

"You've seen mine," she whispered.

"I have, yes. But never so close. If I may say, Miss Summers, you're quite stunning. Beautiful, in fact. I've thought long and hard about what to do with you, and for awhile, I was thoroughly convinced it was my life's purpose to see you perish like all the others. I signed a contract, you see. A contract that would've made you the last after altering a bit of prophecy. But nowhere does this contract mention what exactly I'm to do with you if I opt out of giving you a most painful death. The slayer line will end, although I was never fully educated as to precisely how. You see, regardless of whether or not it's binding, I've stumbled upon some most intriguing news that tells me of a rather different fate for you. You've proved yourself most worthy of it, and should you choose to accept, perhaps we can even discuss your mother and what your decision might entail for her."

"I don't understand."

"Oh, it's very simple," he told her, coming closer, his lips nearly touching hers, his breath warm on her cheeks.

Spike let out another low growl as he fought in vain to free himself from the two vampires still keeping him firmly in place, convinced that the effort he'd exerted to remove himself from the chains had weakened him more than he'd thought. He didn't quite know how, but it was becoming obvious that the eyes and ears had been on them the entire duration they'd been held here.

Wherever here was.

The sound of running water still echoed off into the distance, and he racked his noggin trying to think of a place nearby in the vicinity of the gallery. It just didn't strike him as overly likely that any legitimate form of headquarters would be based anywhere but another dimension. Tara's results didn't lie and he had it on good authority that she was competent enough in her talents that she wouldn't mislead him. He trusted her implicitly.

"I assure you, Mr. Pratt, they're extremely well trained. Some of my very best. I've seen to the task personally, as that spell proved itself to be quite the risk. Much more advanced than what I asked Rack to give you should he fail. One soldier down and not a minute too soon. You'll find these four aren't as susceptible to crumbling under pressure."

"That kind of magic has consequences. Wouldn't take more than a stake to the heart to knock 'em a few pegs off their rocker."

"You might just get your chance a bit later," he offered smugly, noticeably amused by the peroxide vampire's brazenly refreshing attitude in the wake of what would've otherwise been deemed arrant despair in lieu of his helplessness. "Now. Where were we?"

Buffy winced, shutting her eyes and turning her head as Adlam placed his fingertips over the taut skin of her abdomen, toying briefly with the waistband of the panties she wore as he eased them a bit lower over her slender hips. "You may still be a whore, Slayer, but I'm willing to overlook such an indiscretion if you'll agree to stay here with me." He knelt to his knees and gently eased the bottom half of her tank top up, placing a series of kisses upon her bare stomach and observing her with a renewed sort of interest as she bit her lip and still refused to look at him. "No need to be modest now. I've seen you with your vampire. I've witnessed the things you let him do to you, which means I know you're full of the passion you're denying me right now. I could spread you wide open and pound into you right here, and there isn't a thing he could do about it. Rather than allow dear old Joyce the pleasure, I'd give that honor to your half breed lover. I've never been one to share what I declare to be rightfully mine." He drew her top down again and stepped away. "But, as I said, it's one of two choices, and I've recently had a change of heart. I also never fail to enjoy a damn good show on my behalf."

"It's impossible to have a change of heart when you never had one to begin with," she informed him, looking him right in the eye as she tilted her chin towards him in defiance.

He slapped her hard across the face. "To imply you know any of what I've suffered is-"

"The lady actually has a valid point," Spike spoke up, cleverly cutting him off. "You turned that so-called suffering into hate and blamed innocent parties for your misfortune, when the one you should've blamed was yourself. Pissed away a promising position to pursue a vendetta you never bloody followed through with. At least, not logically. Turned to the wrong side and gave yourself willingly to the bloke down below. S'pose he was the only one that would have you. You roughed it for a bit, then met up with the very same vampire who killed the girl you idolized. A girl you were meant to protect. Yeah, you're a real saint."

"And how many girls of consummate virtue had you turned by then, William? How many had you violated when you drained them of their blood and left them lying in the streets for their families to find?"

"Smartened up right quick and went searchin' for my soul," he countered, "which is more than anyone can say for you. I've got a lot to answer for, but I never devoted decades to offing slayers and calling myself a god, did I?"

"No, you just share a bed with them now, don't you? Well, aside from the one that fell during the Boxer Rebellion, that is. Such a fine upstanding citizen you are, Mr. Pratt. You took her out for me so I didn't have to. It's why your punishment will be less severe. Difficult as it may be for me to admit, I've always had a soft spot for you and your unearthly ability to always try and do right on account of your guilt-ridden mentality."

"Thanks ever so," Spike drawled, rolling his eyes.

"I have another proposal for you," Adlam professed bluntly, ignoring him, "though it pales in comparison to the one I've offered Miss Summers. Should you both choose to pursue the second, people may die. Your friends could die. Well...before you're able to get to them at any rate. I'd choose wisely if I were you, as you'll be on the clock."

"Lay it on me then," he urged.

"Your Drusilla is fond of games, if I recall." Adlam crossed his arms over his chest as he began to travel the length of the small room, his head lowered in further contemplation. "In honor of the gratitude I owe her for her humble allegiance, I've gone and devised one of my own. It's why I was simply so eager to bring you here when I did, and I refuse to pass up a fine opportunity."

"Another game," Buffy mumbled.

"Oh, come now. You haven't even heard it yet."

"Does it matter?"

He approached her once more, shaking his head. "I'm going to give you two hours. Two hours, during which I'll keep Angelus at bay and allow you the chance to run the course as you see fit. But you must do it in the time allotted or there will be a price to pay."

"You've giving us a chance to escape," she went on, laughing. "Gee, what's wrong with this picture? I know, let me think." She pursed her lips as she narrowed her eyes, still feeling the sting of the slap he'd delivered without reservation. "Oh, how about _everything_? For one, it's seriously flawed, and two-"

"It's impeccable," he disputed. "You see, if you fail in any way to make it out of here in the window I've given you, your mother, the redhead, and the other girl die. Your deaths will follow- if they haven't already. As I said, a slayer's demise will cause waves in the demonic community at large, as no other will have been called to take her place. If by some miraculous means either of you manage to make it out alive with all of your body parts fully intact, the trick is to have gotten to Joyce, Jennifer, and dear Willow first. Unharmed, I'll reiterate, as you'll find I haven't exactly skimped on the delicacies. I've decided that the last slayer deserves only the very best, which I naturally intend to give her. In more ways than one if she'll let me. I could've shown her that in that dream of hers, but she was still so very capable of shutting me out."

"Well." He glanced at both of them in turn, his emerald gaze brightening. "Have we a deal, children, or do you wish to take me up on my first offer and find out where it leads us?"

"You'll kill us anyway," Buffy concluded. "It's not even about which one we take."

"Ah, but higher powers have already spoken to me," he persisted. "They seem to think I've a chance at love again, Miss Summers. You've been the most difficult slayer to obtain since I discovered my true purpose in life. I dare say it might be fate. Drusilla's implied that I'll never forgive you if I can't kill you. It was then that I wondered if I really had to. Try as she may, Angelus will never agree to her terms to bring William home. He loathes him far too much for it. I've thought of releasing Mr. Pratt into their waiting custody, but it would be too easy an exchange at this particular stage. There's no such thing as family anymore. It exists in storybooks, fables, and little else. You'd be a fool to think otherwise."

"And your terms?" Spike prompted.

"There's no reason to relinquish your ring into my custody, Mr. Pratt, as it won't make the slightest bit of difference here, anyway. Daylight is merely an illusion. It's how my vampires are allowed to roam freely without the risk of sun exposure while they prepare for me."

"Prepare."

"Your trials. I'm sure you're familiar with the concept, as you've gone through some yourself. That wonderful sword meant for your slayer made it all possible. It pierced the fabric of our reality and I was able to take as I needed. It can make or break your beloved, too. I've performed a reversal spell that prohibits her use of it against me. Portals aren't nearly as complex as they seem." He cleared his throat, chuckling to himself. "You just say the word and I'll start my watch. Each of you will begin in a particular location of my choosing, and once you've gotten past the first level, I'll see to it that you move to the second and so on."

"Fine. You win." Buffy only nodded tiredly, shaking her hair out of her eyes as she picked her head up, staring the magician square in the face. "Let's get this over with."

She never saw the look of horror Spike shot her before she was transported to a room even darker than the one she'd been in, her legs feeling the chill against the durable slab of concrete, her hands seeking out purchase as she blindly felt the empty floor around her. The snarl that pierced the air was close- maybe no more than ten feet away. She didn't have to see it to know that whatever it was remained just a stone's throw away. She could hear the rapid breathing and feel its intense desire to capture, corner, and subdue its prey, placating a much needed hunger it had repeatedly been denied. She'd been under the impression that Adlam only kept those of the human variety as prisoner when she'd learned of her mother's fate, but she hadn't stopped to consider it was likely also how he'd trained and built up the more efficient part of his army.

His army.

Buffy assumed it would just be more vampires, but she wasn't getting that kind of vibe from whatever was trapped in here with her. It seemed even more primal, if that was possible. Something that should've stayed dead long ago. Spike hadn't been able to teach her everything, but maybe that was the whole point. When you had no weapons, you only had yourself.

It would have to be enough.

She listened while a set of footsteps descended upon her, the same agitated snarl cutting through the silence as she reached up and brought herself to her feet, her fist plowing itself into and connecting with skin. Skin that had something squiggly and wormlike attached to its jaw. She cringed, tossing another punch and jumping as she heard a boot scrape the ground below her, trying to throw her off balance. A pair of grimy hands clamped themselves over her wrists as whatever it was rammed her into a wall that felt as it were composed entirely of brick, her back hitting it with a pronounced thud. She gritted her teeth to keep from screaming, unprepared when those same hands wound themselves around her neck and attempted to cut off her air supply, her gaze growing dimmer as she was on the verge of blacking out and losing consciousness.

Applying what little strength she had left, she head-butted him and sent him spiraling a good distance away from her, his arms flailing. Her eyes had finally started adjusting to the shadows that surrounded her, and she could just barely make out a tall, bulky brown demon clad in a leather jacket and a black t-shirt with some kind of logo scrawled on it. A pair of matching black jeans made up the rest of the ensemble, along with dark brown boots. His eyebrows made up two big clumps of his own skin, and a pair of miniscule tusk like teeth poked out of either corner of his mouth. She wasn't exactly up to date on the hundreds, or maybe thousands of species that existed, but she was sure this one had never gotten through life just playing nice. He was a brawler, through and through.

It would've made way more sense for Spike to have fought him.

But she somehow gathered that was the whole point to this stupid exercise or test- or whatever else she wanted to call it. Right now she surmised she was just plain indignant. It was already presumed she'd never have a fair advantage, considering she was hardly clothed in much of anything at all and couldn't even gain any leverage by stepping down on the idiot's foot without a decent pair of shoes in her possession.

Shrugging, she charged towards him, delivering punches left and right, bruising her knuckles raw before giving him a good, swift kick to his solar plexus. He let out a high pitched yell that was a far cry from his exasperating snarls, and doubled over in pain, clutching madly at the affected area. She circled him and approached him from the back, grabbing a hold of his head with both hands and twisting it to the side, hearing a sharp crack as his neck snapped and he crumpled lifelessly onto the concrete. Swiping her arm across her face, she saw that it was coated with blood incurred during the altercation, her mind instantly recalling the bar fight she'd engaged in at Willy's. She hadn't felt entirely at ease with killing what were innocent human beings prior to being possessed by Adlam's trigger, but she was able to distinguish the difference a lot better now. This demon wasn't like Lorne. He'd been brought to this room to try and take her out, and instinct had appropriately kicked in, strong and ever determined to embrace and preserve her own survival.

And she had, she realized.

She'd taken him out without stabbing him with a stake or plunging a knife into him with the intention to wound. She hadn't even had to chop anything off. She'd done it using her wits and the abilities that had been awarded to her when she'd inadvertently been Chosen to destroy evil and protect the world from it. A job that she hadn't exactly seen herself taking on when she was still doing household chores and trying to maintain a solid grade point average in high school so she could make her mother proud.

Her mother.

She was that much closer now. Almost there. She had to be.

The ponce had to be joking, Spike mused, initially suspecting he'd veered tremendously off course. He found himself in a narrow, poorly lit hallway that led to a room with a small cot and a low oak dresser cluttered with frilly, feminine things. Ribbons, a hairbrush and some carefully crafted porcelain dolls- one of which was wearing a tiny blindfold across her eyes and was angled to face a corner. It all struck him as incredibly familiar, and he could've sworn he'd sodding witnessed it all somewhere before.

His hand shook as he reached for the doll in question, the uncanny resemblance to one just like it that he'd seen firsthand decades ago overwhelming and flooding his memory bank, taking him right back to the beginning. Back to the beginning and back to _her_. Back then, it was always her.

"My William."

He set the doll down and turned around, only to find that same woman eagerly staring at him with a kind of childlike curiosity, her long white dress trailing behind her as she stopped and beckoned to him with a single hand, a smile befalling her pretty face. "Been a long time, hasn't it, pet?"

"Forever," Drusilla answered honestly.

"You're not well."

"You came for me," she declared quietly, avoiding his assessment of her. "Daddy said you wouldn't, but you came, sweet William. We'll be together again, all of us. You'll see. Ashford will make me what I was and we'll be so very happy. Miss Edith is eager to attend my coming out party."

"Don't wager Ashford gives a bloody damn about you or any party. If he did, he wouldn't have sent me here to find you in the first place. You're nothing more than a distraction to him."

"He wanted to hurt the little blonde trollop who's made such a mess of it, and yet...I was still so terribly wrong about her purpose, wasn't I? Naughty, naughty," Drusilla added almost miserably. She drew her arms around her body as if trying to hug herself, shaking her head in prominent dismay. "He can't kill her if he's convinced himself he's in love with her. Such a dirty man plagued by sin."

His eyes shifted from amber to blue and he growled.

"Oh, my poor boy mustn't fret. There's reason enough for everything, you see. A snake in the woodshed, as he now wishes to follow in Angel's footsteps. Fill the yellow maiden with pleasure against her will. It's not the first time she's been taken so very hard and it won't be her last. He'll rip her apart and he'll come inside. The wall is best, you see, as she won't have to feel his eyes while he's writhing and pulsing and slithering in. He'll pump in and out until he's exhausted himself and can't abide much more."

"Where's Darla?" he tried, opting to steer the conversation away from Adlam's supposed intentions for Buffy. The same ill feeling had crept up into his gut again, staying there and refusing to let go of the hold it had over him.

She appeared to be somewhat lost for a minute as she tried to gain her bearings, her long, dark hair framing either side of her face. "Grandmother's no longer with us," she rattled off. "She went and made Daddy mad."

"She's dead."

"Ashes to ashes," she sang bitterly. "Dust to dust. She won't be a bother to us any longer."

"And you?" he countered, so softly she barely heard him.

"There was a battle," she explained. "The men Angel fought didn't much care for what he did to their wives and children. They meant to destroy us and have us burn for it. But he couldn't help himself. He never could. They were crying out and they needed to be punished. There were guns and matches, and my dress was set on fire. He bought me a new one. I don't much like fire. It hurts and my skin blisters beneath its touch."

Spike didn't know why, but his heart nearly broke for her. Here she was, a much more vicious killer who'd always surpassed and troubled him in the wake of her carnage, and he genuinely felt sorry for what had become of the innocent girl she'd been before Angelus had intervened and made her a monster. It was tragedy at its very finest, as she'd tried to make him a monster, too. For awhile, though, he'd been oblivious. Just as oblivious as her despite her odd gift. He'd tried so hard to severe the ties he had to her, because he refused to contemplate that he'd ever be tempted to go there again. His soul had been a cure- a sign of divine intervention that he'd earned his right to after sacrificing and exposing himself to the tests that awaited him when he'd agreed to forego them. A test that was nothing as jarring as this one.

The Drusilla that stood before him was an imitation of her former self. Granted, she hadn't quite prided herself on being all there before, either, but he strongly suspected and had an inkling she was good and truly buggered now. It was most definitely far too late for her. There was nothing left to salvage but his own sanity as he fought to preserve it and find Buffy. His sire was a forgotten cause and he lamented that he'd actually loved her once. Back then, he'd pictured them together for all eternity after she'd turned him, believing she'd treasure him as he'd treasured her. But no matter how much he rationalized it, he could never get around the fact that it could never be. _Would_ never be. He'd been insecure and exceedingly naïve.

Not anymore.

"Spike?"

"Yeah, ducks?"

"My judgment was poor and I was foolish. I never meant to give you to summer. She's like sunshine and she scorches you. She taints your soul. Don't hunt, don't hurt, don't kill," she mulled over, putting a hesitant hand across his heart on his bare chest. "My William, with a soul. He reeks of the stench of humanity, and for her. You've let her see it, haven't you? You've...shown it to her quite intimately."

He gingerly pried her fragile fingers from him, his blues somber. "You never knew the real me. Never knew the lengths I went through to better myself. Couldn't see past the wonder of Angelus long enough to try."

"For her," she insisted rather hauntingly. "It was all for her."

"I met Buffy on a case, Dru. That hardly constitutes gettin' my soul for her. I hadn't even-"

"But I can still see her," she pressed, "floating all around you. Why can't you just push her away? Push her away for princess."

"Bugger that."

"There's no way out for you now, my Spike. No way out at all. You can't see it, but I can. She'll consume you. Summer brings winter into all its imperfections. There's no turning back from it."

"In English, love. You know I can't stand to make sense out of your bloody riddles anymore."

"She'll drain you. What you are, is what she'll always be. You'll do it because you care."

"Right then, thanks for the tip."

"I miss my mum, my William. Do you miss yours?"

"Won't make her any less dead, will it?" he argued.

"Your slayer desires to rekindle things with hers. What will become of you when she discovers her whereabouts and begins to make her amends? What becomes of everything you've surrendered to her so freely?"

"I won't claim her. We've already talked about it, and-"

"You won't have to," she reasoned. "Everything is as it should be."

"And just what in the bleeding hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You've been through so much, and yet you still refuse to see the power she has over you. Over us all."

He huffed out a breath that wasn't required of him. "This wouldn't have anything to do with her sword now, would it?"

"A sword she no longer uses. He's taken it all from her."

"Yeah, I know. Heard the same version from Captain Insanity himself."

"You've sampled her," she bemoaned, nodding to herself as her blue eyes watched him sadly, her pale complexion a cross between acknowledgement and frustration. "Had a nice little taste of your summer sunshine. My William's too far gone now and won't ever return to me. All that remains is Spike, and he won't have me, either."

"Dru-"

"Shh." She placed her index finger to her lips. "I shall be very cross with you if you interrupt."

"It's over, love. There's nothing more to say. You're with Angelus now, and I'm-"

"You have your slayer, and I no longer think we should've come here. Time to go home, say our goodbyes." She let her long finger trail the length of his cheek, her expression transpiring into an odd sort of sincerity. "You were a killer, my lovely Spike. Born to slash and bash and destroy the likes of her kind. Instead you've gone and found your destiny."

"My destiny?"

"In her. Your destiny lies with her."

"Buffy's not immortal, pet. She's a slayer, remember? She'll grow old and she'll...the bottom line is that destiny doesn't apply here. What you and I had was-"

"But it does," she protested, smiling. "She knows power others can't begin to imagine. Power that extends beyond her sword. Power only you can give her."

"You're not making much sense again, pet."

"Come, I'll show you," she urged him. "We must move fast."

He clenched his jaw, reluctant to buy into whatever it was that she was suddenly offering. "Where are we going?"

"To find the other part of her. The part that abandoned her so long ago."

"Which part would that be, exactly?" he questioned, playing along.

"You must cheat, my William. Find her other half. The eldest of the summer suns."

It was then that it hit him all at once.

Eldest and summer. Older and blonde. The obscure references, the…Joyce. She meant Buffy's mum.

She meant Joyce.


	36. Chapter 36: Follow Your Nose

A/N: Thanks so much, Spuffygirl! :)

Chapter Thirty-Six: Follow Your Nose

_Art Gallery_

12:47 PM

"So how much are we talking in damages?"

Lorne warily glanced up at the detective, briefly adjusting the ice cubes wrapped inside the small towel, impatiently but thoroughly nursing the bump protruding from his temple. "Ask me again after I've taken out this killer headache and the idiot who's responsible for it."

"Actually, the r-reversal spell was a success," Tara murmured softly as she entered Joyce's office somewhat unprecedented, hands occupied by a large leather-bound book and her blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. "Anyone who saw what happened probably won't even remember it. It's supposed to be an added perk. Or it will be, I-I'm not sure. It's unclear as to how long it's supposed to take to experience the desired effect. It was my first time trying it."

"You're the calm after a storm, Miss Maclay."

She smiled at the green demon. "If we're going to think about righting this, it wouldn't be smart letting the entire city know we're in direct violation of the ban."

"Who was it?" Xander demanded.

"I'm sorry?" she returned.

"Did he send his army to do his dirty work for him again? Was it just one, four...what?"

"I didn't really get a good look," Lorne elaborated. "But if you want my guess before I blacked out and became Mr. Completely Helpless, I'd say it _looked_ like the almighty Angelus. It makes sense, too. From what I hear, that lackey in the nest threw him under the bus and practically wrote a tell-all for Spike. Especially when he told our soulful vamp his nemesis was back in the undead flesh with his former lady love. Our sword's vanished, too."

"So how do we get them back?"

"I understand you're still upset about-"

"No, you really don't," he cut him off. "First Willow and now my partner. How bad does this have to get until we get off our asses and do something?"

"If I recall, that same partner said you were the one who made it your business to sluff off the gallery and didn't have an interest in showing up today. This might've been prevented if you'd actually lended us a hand at the time of attack."

"That's not entirely accurate," Tara put in. "The l-level of magic Angelus was borrowing would've rendered us all defenseless, regardless of trying to shield ourselves against it. It's possible Adlam trusted him enough to carry it out so he wouldn't have to."

"Even if that were true," Xander pressed, "the question is why? Why give us such a light show when the slayer's been a pretty easy access point lately? He got to Pratt no sweat at the hospital. Why not Buffy, too? I'm not saying being tossed from a window would've..." He sighed in frustration. "I'm just saying something's off."

"He's saving her for the grand finale," Lorne answered. "Waiting seven long years will do that to an extreme psychopath. He enjoys drawing it out, and I can tell you that much with a great deal of certainty. He plans and he plans some more. The chances are also slim he chose the likes of Pylea for his destination getaway or else he'd be on his deathbed as we speak."

"Yeah, except he's immortal. You can't kill immortality. It's redundant."

"That hasn't always been the case," Tara volunteered. "Vampires are immortal, but they still have weaknesses that can lead to death. A stake, decapitation, fire- even daylight. Father Doyle may h-have been right about the sword, because Adlam knew enough to tell Angelus to take it with him. It also occurred to me that he may have been cursed when he gave up his soul."

"Cursed?" Xander repeated.

"Meaning there's a way to make him stay dead if we can find out more about what happened to him back then."

"Great, so we do more research. Then we go and arm ourselves, storm the castle, and save the day."

"Except he already knows we won't be able to help them," she clarified. "It's why he left us. We're no good to Buffy and Spike without the sword."

"Someone should call Giles. Tell him what's-"

"Give it another couple of hours," Lorne countered, waving his free hand dismissively. "He's still trying to process the big one about Joyce and this would probably send him spiraling straight into nutsoville. Leave it."

"And wait?" Xander pressed, laughing. "Hey, that's fine, it's good. But I'm a cop. I don't just sit around and wait for an obvious clue to fall into my lap. So if you guys can't be bothered to help, maybe I'll find someone who can."

"I'd be careful with that, amigo. You enlist the help of the wrong witch, warlock or demon and they'll expect something in return. Not the wisest decision to make."

"It's not, no, but what have I got to lose?"

"Apparently everything, because as of right this very moment, you _and_ the conveniently absent Detective Pratt are officially out of a job."

"Commander Snyder."

The short, balding man approached the three of them with a smile on his face, clothed in a navy blue business suit, his black shoes clomping loudly across the floor in brisk, authoritative steps. Motioning to the five uniforms who'd stepped up behind him, and followed by a rather distraught looking Captain Jenkins, he pointed to Lorne and the smile only grew wider. "Gag him, cuff him and take him to the nearest facility that treats his kind. Lock him up when you get there. That freak of nature doesn't legally have any rights. Book Harris on harboring and conspiring with a demon and witch, and set a trial date for the practicing Wicca herself. Both of them in separate cells and separate locations."

"Sorry," Anya mouthed silently, almost sadly, as she watched the men move into action and comply with the commander's directives.

"We received a call from a witness twenty minutes ago reporting a blown out window in the gallery. This witness later described a female _chanting_ in broad daylight to fix said window, which miraculously seems to be completely intact. Imagine that." He proudly approached the witch and sneered. "We also just bypassed the hocus pocus on your poorly executed barrier in the magic shop. A very serious crime- even for someone of your standing. You really should've stuck to selling authentic spices that comply with regulations, Miss Maclay. We've got all the proof we need to put you away for a very long time. Add that to the fact that you were aiding these degenerates in some kind of bizarre world domination plot to take over the city, and we'll be drowning in paperwork."

"Sir, you want to reconsider on account of the-"

He whirled on her so fast she took a step back. "You're not giving orders here, Captain. Address me that way again and you'll be demoted to desk drone. I've already got half a mind to slap you with a fine for letting it get as far as you did." He cleared his throat as he eyed up the three transgressors, his tolerance wearing thin. "Now. Where are Pratt and the girl?"

"They're no longer in this dimension," Xander retorted. "Being the sensitive, caring friend that I am, I'd be happy to take a message."

"Get rid of them," he snapped to the uniforms. "All of them."

"Don't you think you're-"

"No, I don't, Jenkins. If you hadn't awarded him the privilege of clearance and released a killer into his custody in the first place, dare I say none of this would've ever happened. She'd still be sitting in jail where she belongs and these murders would probably be as good as solved."

"And it doesn't bother you that whoever or whatever is responsible for this is taking out our men one by one? Those three were our last hope at trying to stop it."

"Say another word and that office you've grown so fond will be nothing but a distant memory."

"But sir-"

"Do I or do I not make myself clear?" he demanded. "This ban was placed into effect for a reason, Captain. You allowed those beneath you to abuse it against my wishes. Your medical examiner's vanished into the wind and innocent people are dead and missing. You failed to heed my warnings and failure to heed warnings carries with it severe consequences."

"Then with all due respect, Commander, I'd like to request permission to have the gallery searched. There might be something that was overlooked seven years ago. If Detective Harris was here, there has to be a good reason."

"I'll take it under advisement when I add breaking and entering to his list."

"Sir-"

"According to the logs, a Rupert Giles owns this property. Schedule a meet and inform him of the break-in."

"Harmony Kendall worked with him in Records," she pointed out.

"Mention the connection," he finished, before he proceeded to follow the uniforms out. "See if he knows anything relevant to this particular area of the investigation."

She only nodded, activating her micro and watching as he let the door close behind him. "Too bad you'll always be too weak to actually grow a pair." Requesting a name and reciting a series of digits, she awaited a response.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Giles? This is Captain Anya Jenkins from the Los Angeles Police Department. There's been an incident at your gallery and I really need to speak with you. Is there anywhere you'd be comfortable enough to meet?"

There was a slight pause and what sounded like light breathing on the other end. "Something's happened, hasn't it? Something big."

"I'm unable to disclose much more at this time, which is why I strongly suggest that you settle on a place to meet me. I'm starting to see somewhat of a pattern here, and I think it might be why we're currently unable to locate a detective of mine."

"Does this detective of yours have a name?" he asked.

"William Pratt. There was a girl-"

"Yes, I know of her. And him. I'll, uh- give me a minute, will you? I'll be right there."

"Her mother used to own this place before you took it over. I'm guessing you knew that, too."

"You'd be correct to presume that as well. But as you said, we should perhaps do this face to face, as I've no intention of misleading you. I only want to help, and if William's gone missing..."

"My superior's just taken a demon, a witch and Pratt's partner into custody. I think if anyone could give me some answers here, it would be you. Oh, and just so we haven't got any secrets between us, I've already seen what he is, so we can save the out-of-this-world explanations for another day. Vampire or not, it makes no difference to me. I just want him back."

"You'll have to get the others released. I by no means intend to appear disrespectful on the matter, but they're crucial to your case- assuming it's not cold already."

"I'm sure Snyder would like it to stay that way," she acknowledged. "But he's always been a real stickler for the ban. Anyone who doesn't obey the official rules is no longer playing for the winning team. He's a troll with a capital T and you're protecting a vampire. Before I was into the art of fully embracing the weird and unusual, I may have had a few gripes with that. But he's been a wonderful addition to the department and he's been consistently thorough at doing his job. I want that thoroughness back, and I think you may be the only one who can do that for me."

"As I said, stay there. I'll be with you shortly."

Anya disconnected and sighed. "You better be."

Just when she thought she'd gotten better at anticipating whatever unforeseen object or obstacle lay blocking her path to freedom, Buffy was fearing she'd nearly underestimated herself. The second room she'd been transported to following her previous demonic victory was nothing short of claustrophobic, its compactness making it literally half the size of the one she'd just come from. It was, however, lighter here, and there was a single window approximately ten feet up, the walls composed of plaster. She could discern from the sliver of sunlight that drifted in that it was still day out, and Adlam's words about the lack of effect it had on vampires still worried her- knowing that if she were ever able to make it out, it was highly likely she'd have to contend with whatever abnormal creatures were lurking in the great beyond.

Wonderful.

She couldn't hear the running water that Spike had mentioned, but figured it would always be more of a vampire perk until she could actually get close enough to it herself. Until then, she could only speculate and hope those speculations had an ounce of truth to them. There were a pair of jeans and sneakers in the far right corner on the floor and she gratefully scrambled towards them, immediately donning both without hesitation. She supposed it was her reward for level one, and she wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to grab them when she'd successfully made it to level two. She'd defeated that demon fair and square and had won her first real battle against those who were in cahoots against her.

They wanted to see her fail. _Adlam_ wanted to see her fail- if only so he could try and persuade her to agree to the twisted idea that he was in love with her. It was obvious it was nothing more than a foreign concept to him now. He'd gone too long without it, and to think that he knew what it was both astounded her and disgusted her.

His hands and his mouth on her body had pretty much gotten the same reaction. It was trying, and more than just a little reminiscent of the nightmarish hell she'd lived through in prison. Fingers and lips that she hadn't wanted on her were constantly probing and poking in hopes of stimulating her to completion before they got there themselves. Sticking it in and ruthlessly plowing into her sometimes- the pain more than she could ever bear.

But Spike had taken it all away. A _vampire_ had taken it all away.

Before she could blink, a hand enclosed itself around her waist and yanked her into what little shadows existed in the small space, placing a hand over her mouth as she was drawn toward him. She prided herself on recognizing his scent, grinning as he removed it to rub the pad of his thumb across her cheek. "How'd you get here?" she whispered. "I thought-"

"Someone's educated me a bit more as to how this Godforsaken fortress isn't as impressive as it seems. Especially in the way of magic. Looks like I was spot on about the whole asylum bit, too. He's got just the right amount of crazy in him to pull it off. In his deplorable excuse for a cranium, we're his new patients tryin' to navigate his sodding maze while he sits back and enjoys havin' his screws come loose."

She shook her head. "I don't understand. I...I mean he's monitoring us, right? He'd have to be."

"Found a way around that, too. She's out there waiting for us, so we need to move quick, pet."

"Yeah, but you can't use any kind of- how do I know it's really you?"

"The lot of it's in your mind." Leaning in closer, he nibbled his way along her jaw, eventually working upward to tug her delectable bottom lip between his teeth, moving to swallow her moans as he enclosed his mouth over hers. His rather obvious erection strained against her belly and she ground her hips into him of her own volition, begging for contact. "The next time he so much as _speaks_ of touching you, just remember whose girl you really are."

"Spike-"

"I know you don't belong to anyone, least of all me, but I'm not above fightin' for you if the situation calls for it. We've made it through more together than we have apart, and I need you on this."

Something that wasn't human filled the tiny area with an anger fueled roar, and before she could even catch a glimpse of what it was, she found herself in a long dark hallway. Spike and a woman clothed in white were conversing disjointedly to one another, but the mysterious woman's stare was focused on her for the duration of the exchange. She had to remind herself that she was the hunted and the hunted were, for all intents and purposes, also prey.

"Buffy, I'd like you to meet Drusilla." It was said so entirely casual that she worried she'd made some kind of dreadful mistake in trusting a very deceptive mirage, nearly convinced it was all part of the game. Maybe she was still on the verge of waking up at any second now, equipped to do what she was required to do to defend herself from what stood between her and the freedom whose deprivation had grown so much that she could just about taste it. She needed to be brave. To _continue_ being brave.

"Slayer?"

She slapped him, hearing the sharp noise reverberate in the darkness as she reached back and prepared to do it again, frozen in place when he caught her wrist before her hand could connect with flesh. The warm blue of his eyes seemed to snap her out of whatever preconceived notions she'd had prior to his announcement, and she could only glare at his fragile companion who had yet to speak directly to her, her odd demeanor more than just a little unnerving. "She walks in the golden sunshine by your side, my William. She will walk there forever."

"Dru here seems to think we can get to your mum and cut a few lines to the big finish," he explained, not the least bit fazed by the way in which the other woman carried herself despite her weakened state, her cryptic promise strangely jarring.

"So you thought you'd team up with her again so you could-"

"She found _me_," he interrupted, noticeably perturbed. "So whatever you think you already know up in that noggin of yours, it's more than just a tad probable you're way off base. Wasn't like I asked for a bloody reunion. Last thing on my mind, considering all I've blooming thought about was you since you agreed to that wanker's proposition without informing me about it first."

"And it's my fault you didn't read the warning label?" she tossed back haughtily. "Well that's just peachy, isn't it? Your ex-girlfriend could rip my throat out whenever she feels like it, and all you care about is me siding with Adlam's stupid terms because _I'd_ actually like to get out of here alive."

"Want it just as much as you do and you're deluding yourself if you believe otherwise, you stubborn bint."

"Oh, so now we're back to name calling again. Great."

"If I didn't love you so bleeding much, I wouldn't have tried nearly as hard to reach you."

She laughed. "I'm starting to wonder if you ever really did at-"

She felt his hands before she saw them, pushing her into a wall that was cold and unwelcoming as it scraped at her back. Her breath caught as his beautiful face came precariously close to hers, his expression immediately softening as he noticed the bruising around her neck. He gently trailed his fingers over it as if he thought he might soothe the ache, overcome with concern. "Got yourself into a right nasty scuffle, didn't you? Fought one of his live-in beasties."

"I'm sorry, I'm...I didn't mean what I said, and if-"

"You're forgiven, Goldilocks. Happens to the best of us."

"So how did you-"

"Dru says she knows something about your mum and can take us to her."

"How do you know she's telling the truth? Last I checked, there was only one good, well-meaning vampire in this place, and that's you. It could all be part of Adlam's master plan."

"My sweet boy no longer dances with his dark princess," Drusilla spoke up, as if her explanation cleared up everything. She glided toward Buffy awkwardly, her movements slow and deliberate. "But we can't help the slayer without the key. Time falls short. It's not ours anymore."

"She's not exactly herself, pet, but she'd have nothing to gain from it. Much too late for that. Too late for _her_."

"Okay, so what do we do? Once he realizes we've found some way to avoid his little traps, he'll come looking. She'll be leading him right to us."

"Buffy."

"I need to see her, Spike. I need to know that she's really here and this isn't just some-"

"Ducks?" Turning to the woman he'd spent a better part of his existence with after she'd turned him, he gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze.

Drusilla motioned with her right hand, indicating the end of the hallway with her index finger. "Last door on the left, my Spike. She waits for you and wonders why. But she knows, you see. She's always known. She misses the light and weeps for it."

"Translation?" Buffy inquired curiously.

"She's still talking about Joyce," he supplied. "According to her, your mum is-"

"Then let's go."

"Right then."

"The card opens the door to the key when there's no magic," his sire reiterated. Reaching into a flap sewn into her white dress, she retrieved the familiar rectangular object, relinquishing it into Spike's grasp. "It's nothing but a door. But doors tell you everything."

They advanced down the hallway at a fairly hesitant pace, only stopping when they came to the one in question, the card lingering inches from the slot.

"Do it," the slayer whispered.

"You should prepare yourself, love. You may not like what you see. There's no telling what we might find once we're inside. You should take a breath, try and get-"

"I have to know."

He tilted his head, eventually nodding. Sliding the card through, the light blinked green and they were granted instant access to what lay behind the barrier, the infamous door opening to reveal a figure crouched low in the corner, her ankles shackled and her arms wrapped around herself. She made no effort to slink away as a result of the intrusive entrance, likely conditioned to anticipate it by now and tolerating it more than fearing it. When she lifted her head up, the resemblance was uncanny, and Spike felt his unresponsive heart catch in his throat as he watched Buffy approach the older Summers with some caution, her pretty green eyes flooded with tears.

"Mommy?"

It was such a simple declaration, yet the force of power behind it was enough to shatter a broken world beyond recognition. The petite blonde was unable to steady herself as she stumbled toward her mother, sobbing more freely now as she threw her arms around her neck and collapsed roughly to her knees. Joyce didn't say anything, waiting until her daughter had pulled away from her before studying her quite intently, the suspicion still prevalent in her tired eyes as she squinted, her dirty face indecipherable. She brought up a hand and gradually began placing her fingers over Buffy's face, seemingly unconvinced that she was real while she allowed them to explore her cheeks, her nose and her lips, a brow raising itself in contemplation.

"Mom, it's me," she tried again. "I'm here, I'm- I didn't know. I've...they put me away. They…but I'm still Buffy. I'm still me."

"Buffy."

"That's right."

"Oh God, my baby."

"I'm here, Mom." She felt herself being gathered up into her mother's arms and pulled close, a hand smoothing out her hair as Joyce sobbed into her shoulder, her cries mirroring her daughter's as she continued to cling to her, her fingers grasping tightly for purchase. It was something out of a dream. A dream Buffy had experienced countless times sitting in her cell in prison before she'd been torn from sleep to feel one of the guards pumping away inside her as they strived to fulfill their own needs. They'd never had a problem with inviting themselves in if and when they felt she deserved to learn another lesson. She'd awake to a stark reality over and over again without any hope of getting back the life she'd lost, resigning herself to her body being used rather ruthlessly for male pleasure.

But this wasn't a dream.

This was her mother. Right in front of her. So close, and yet oddly far away all at the same time.

When she felt a soft pat impart itself against her shoulder, she looked up to see Spike's eyes glistening with traces of the same tears that clouded her own. "Need to get those shackles off, yeah?"

Buffy reluctantly drew herself away and brought herself to her feet, crossing her arms protectively over her chest as she complied.

Joyce flinched the minute the vampire laid a hand over hers, tucking it away as if she'd been burned. "Who are you?"

"Name's William," Spike prompted in hushed tones. "I'm a homicide detective with the Los Angeles Police Department."

"I- you've…you've been helping my daughter. It's how she got here, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am." He clasped her chin between his fingers and ran them tenderly along her jawline. "Also happen to be madly in love with her."

"In love?" She looked from one to the other, absolutely perplexed as she struggled to process the impending news. "Buffy..."

"He knows Giles, Mom. Look, we'll explain later, all right? Right now, we need to get you out of here."

Her eyes brightened slightly at the mention of the record keeper, but vanished when she appeared to remember something else. "I'm not the only one."

"Mom-"

"There are two others. They're...I don't know where, but he has them."

"Jennifer and Willow," Buffy acceded.

"Yes, you need to get to them, too. He'll hurt them if he sees I'm gone. They're such nice girls. You have to-"

"And we will. We'll get you out first and then we'll go back for them."

Spike tore apart Joyce's shackles as he began helping her up, allowing her to lean on him for support as he placed a hand around her waist. "Dru?"

"You can't leave yet, my William," she chided. "The eldest must give so her youngest can survive. You need to do it before he finds her. She should be pure. They are of one and the same."

"What's she talking about?" Buffy asked him.

"Not quite sure. She's been saying it since I bloody found her. It's like tryin' to explain a sodding needle in a haystack."

"There was a window in the second room I was in," she volunteered then. "It had bars, but they shouldn't be- there was something there. Something...we'll have to go another way. Find another way out. It's probably still in there."

"You could use some of the magic Tara gave you. Ask it to show us the way out."

She scrunched up her nose in disappointment. "I'm afraid what we did with the light trick was pretty much the end of it. I don't think slayers are meant to retain a lot of the witchy stuff."

"Slayers?" Joyce questioned. "Sweetheart?"

"Not now, Mom. We have to go."

"Your mum and I will be right behind you," Spike assured her.

Drusilla laughed then, as she began to sway from side to side, almost as if she were falling asleep. "It's not meant for me to go, my Spike. It was never in the cards and the cards can't lie. Not anymore. It reeks of death and so much despair and there will still be one more. From the ashes they shall rise again. Only then will we gladly rejoice and welcome them into our home. Such a pretty home." She smiled. "I need to change Miss Edith now. There will be no more parties and the flowers on her dress are all wrong."

He bestowed her with one last look before following Buffy through the door and along the hallway they'd come from, searching for a potential exit along a series of open doors. Doors that were in all likelihood used to forcefully contain those that were unhinged when the building had likely flourished in its original state and capacity, and catered to those individuals who couldn't quite function in an acceptable role in society- shutting them away in a dimension where they were forgotten and no longer deemed competent. In essence, it was the perfect place for Drusilla, had it still been operational. From the looks of it, it hadn't legitimately retained anyone in years. The alternate plane he and Buffy had found themselves on seemed to be almost a mirror image of their own. Same rules, same monsters- but negating the susceptibility of bursting into flame when vampires who weren't roaming the night in desperate need of a meal sought daytime hours to actively quench their overwhelming thirst.

"How long have you been a cop, William?"

"Been with the department for a few years now," he muttered, swiftly turning the corner with Joyce as they descended down yet another hallway.

"Did they give you your super strength?" she persisted, obviously still confused as to how he'd broken through her shackles with very little trouble at all.

"There," Buffy instructed, noting the large steel door that loomed ahead of them, the miniscule window that resided on top of it alluding to further proof of daylight. The door had a slot to the right of it that was similar to the cell where Adlam had been holding her mom. But even as the green light flickered on and allowed them to pass, she had a sinking feeling in her gut that it was far too easy. There'd been no sign of any guards resembling the vampiric variety standing near her mother's room, and Drusilla had led them to her without requesting anything in return. She also didn't have an inkling as to where Angelus had taken off to, but was convinced they hadn't yet seen the last of him.

Her worries were confirmed when they pried open the door and shuffled out into a world that was alien and yet still so commonplace, giving way to approximately fifty vampires who stood at strict attention, waiting for their commands as they remained restrained by a tall electronic fence closing them in. They appeared more advanced than the ones she'd encountered in the alleyway, and even more menacing than the bulky, shaved set of heads that had accompanied Adlam earlier. The hunger in their eyes indicated some of them hadn't been fed in sufficient enough supply to hold them over until their next meal. Which meant...

"Looks like this is level three," she announced, crestfallen and frazzled.


	37. Chapter 37: The Back of Beyond

A/N: Thank you TheBlueDragonWolf! :)

Also, slight warning for this part. It does contain a rape attempt, but as promised, there will be no actual rape portrayed in a graphic sense (so my initial claim stands true). Just thought I would put that out there in advance.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Back of Beyond

1:19 PM

"Cheaters are never rewarded, children. The same holds true for those who help them." The voice was the same, but the monster it now belonged to was the one from her dream. Gone was the long blonde hair and the green eyes, replaced by rough yellow skin with large horns and a piercing black gaze. A gaze so much like the lifeless patrons at Willy's that it both frightened and unnerved her, her body tensing as she stubbornly met it head on. "Did you really have the gall to think you could beat me at my own game?"

She placed her hands over her hips, jutting out her chin as she addressed him. "Just lucky, I guess."

"Bring me the mother," he instructed the burly vampire who stood beside him.

"Mom, run."

But even as Joyce fled in the direction of the door they'd just emerged from, Buffy saw the same two vampires who'd grabbed her earlier quickly move in to apprehend the frail older woman, clamping a big hand over each of her arms and hauling her toward the post where Adlam waited. A floor above them, it almost reminded the slayer of the towers they'd had at the facility that imprisoned her for seven years, permitting the inmates a recess outdoors once a month. Her recollection of it was vague at best, as she'd only ever been allowed to do it a mere handful of times when the guards had already rammed something long and hard inside of her and were feeling especially charitable in lieu of the circumstances. She never gave them the satisfaction if she could help it, having long since learned how to remove herself from the present and revert to the past, always channeling her last remaining ounce of fortitude to do it.

That fortitude would be put to the test today.

Once Joyce was cuffed to the metal railing next to him, Adlam bore down at the two of them, a smile forming across his demonic countenance as he chuckled. "Now then, where were-"

"You were about to tell us why you're gonna lose and we're gonna win?" Buffy volunteered freely as she returned the smile with one of her own.

"Ah, yes. Ever the resourceful one. Forever making your quips and reveling in them when I still have the one thing you want most," he drawled lazily. "You really should've conceded to accept my offer, Miss Summers."

"If I have to feel your hands on me one more time, there'll be more than just a few dusted vampires out here. The only difference is, you'll be joining them."

"Will I?" he returned, still very much amused. "So sure of yourself, are you? Perhaps we should see just how much." Motioning to the two vampires who stood guard near Joyce, he indicated a black duffel bag at his feet. "Throw them the stakes. Oh, and give the half breed back his boots, would you?"

"Mind telling us what in the sodding hell this is?" Spike spoke up, his blue eyes trained on the vamps who continued to stand like soldiers in front of them, doing a head count to confirm their numbers. When one of them stepped forth and dropped his combat boots into view, he swiftly snatched them up and fit them over each bare foot, bending to tighten the laces.

"A bit of an experiment of mine along with some fairly last minute advancements in training. I suspect you'd know all about that, since your slayer's hardly ready. You've failed miserably in educating her for what lies ahead. A shame, really, as I expected more. I should've done a better job of trying to bury her when I had the chance." He gestured excitedly to the vampires below him- all of which were male. "Daylight's out, of course, but they can still be killed by beheading, stakes, or fire here. Fire, however, won't be an option- and for obvious reasons. Can't have you playing with matches again, can we? That leaves both of you with two of four ways to rectify the problem. The fence is designed to keep you inside and you aren't permitted to pass beyond it without my express consent. It's been activated accordingly to enforce this. Either way, I trust you won't be disappointing me."

"If we're talking beheading, I think it's only right that I should have my sword," Buffy retorted smartly, fixing him with a glare. "A sword that was originally meant for me before your angry, whiny vampire minion took it from me back at the gallery."

"He's hardly a minion, though I'm sure Mr. Pratt's already filled you in. Your soulful vampire has killed innocents with that very same whiny minion, and for years upon years wreaked only mass destruction. How does it feel to know that you've slept in the arms of a vicious killer? That you let him do things to you?"

"I think I'd like you to stop talking so I can have my sword."

"The sword is not your concern at the moment. Fighting my boys, on the other hand, is. I'd send you my finest regards there, but the way things are going, you probably won't even need them. As I said before, I can bring you pleasure or pain. You clearly prefer the latter, so we'll just let them take a drink and drain you dry."

"What do I get if I pass?"

"Something worth so much more than a pair of pants and some shoes." He ran his fingers over Joyce's hair, the eldest Summers' doing her best to ignore him as she kept the focus on her daughter. "Your mother. Alive or dead, however, remains to be seen."

"Buffy, don't worry about me, just-" The older woman was brutally knocked to the ground as Adlam backhanded her, her shackles straining as she struggled to recover from the blow.

"I don't believe I informed you that you were allowed to speak. Do wait your turn."

Spike growled, picking up one of the stakes that had been tossed at them and advancing several steps closer to the rows of alert vampires. The slayer immediately enclosed a hand over his wrist, gently shaking her head as he turned to her, his eyes flashing between blue and amber.

"Well, isn't this impossibly touching," Adlam mused. "But just so we're clear, my two hour time limit still stands, and as of right now, you're already falling exceptionally short of it. Perhaps your lover has a point with throwing himself into the thick of it to get it done. No use stopping him now, as there's more than enough to go around. Plenty of refreshments, as they say, for all." Waving his hand in a quick gesture, he gave the okay his army awaited to have free reign while the first row of five began to move rather fluidly toward their intended targets, the remaining ones charging forth in quick succession and taking their lead.

Buffy retrieved and pocketed two stakes before she was fiercely grabbed from behind, her arms pinned tight as she found her circulation being drastically cut off by the excruciatingly painful grip her opponent had on her, whipping her head back wildly as she struck his forehead with a loud smack, gulping in what breath she could when he dropped her to the floor- only to be yanked away by another. She pulled back two fingers and rammed them into his eyes as hard as she could, drawing back with her first stake and driving it home into his chest as he ineptly sought to rectify his ruptured line of vision, letting out a loud scream before crumbling into a pile of ash.

The vampire that had initially grabbed her was vastly regaining his mobility and sprinted toward her again, unprepared for being caught on the pointy end of the same stake she'd used to rid herself of the one before him, her face already soaked with sweat. Although the pack had looked menacing, Buffy was finding they were anything but. It was an obvious play on words to make her fear them based purely on appearance alone. A very misleading tactic, if there ever was one. Adlam may have sent some packing to the gym and given them what he probably considered his own version of a makeover- but deep down, they were no more powerful than the ones she'd encountered in the alleyway. Since then, she'd learned from her mistakes and thought a lot about what Spike had called her out on, urging her to correct it so her pride didn't overrun the fight.

Her vampire in question was currently contending with the fifteen that had surrounded him, forming a circle of sorts and leaving him dead smack in the middle with a stake in either hand. Buffy couldn't help but feel it mirrored the previous fight in more ways than one now, remembering that he'd basically saved her butt after the girl had taken a chunk out of her neck, rendering her a little out of it as a result of the unexpected blood loss. She wasn't exactly sure what came over her or precisely when it did. But whatever it was, it was giving her just what she needed, and she jumped at the opportunity to take it. Where she once would've been too scared and overcome with doubt in doing what was right, she saw only courage this time in spite of the overwhelming odds.

She saw a way to her freedom.

She lashed out as hard as she could, punching, kicking, and slapping at the creatures that started to crowd her, intent on feeding and backing her into a corner that slammed her up against the uninviting cold of the tall steel building. Something about the weight of the stake in her hand felt a bit heavier than usual, and she couldn't seem to pinpoint what it was. She'd had to spring for makeshift ones in the past, but these weren't even anything like the plastic wood grain Spike spoke of when he was explaining the various methods of wounding, yet not aiming for the kill. The one she held was real wood, but..._different_.

She decided her second approach was worth a long shot, and nipped a vampire clawing at her straight across the neck with it, running it neatly over his skin like a blade. The smell of burning flesh invaded her nostrils as blood spurted up and into her face, decapitating him as he evaporated into nothingness. Her remaining aggressors backed off as if they'd already suffered the same fate, spooked after witnessing the cruel form of punishment their fallen comrade had just endured. She didn't want to think it, and couldn't actually even fathom it, but it would appear the same man, or demon, or...whatever it was that Ashford Adlam was at the moment, had deliberately constructed his weapons with magic in mind. Try as she might, she just couldn't wrap her brain around it. It did give him some leverage pertaining to his interest in the sword she'd recovered at the gallery, but did little to soothe other, more pressing concerns.

He wanted her dead. He'd outright said it and implied it countless times. Still, there appeared to be a side to him that contradicted his reasoning and provided him some sort of sick, twisted aspiration that she'd eventually comply and be some sort of slave he would turn to for sexual enjoyment- namely when he felt the need for pleasure that life was unable to give him. To claim that he'd found it in her after slaughtering so many of her kind did little to comfort her. She gone through it once, unwilling with multiple partners, and she vowed she'd never let herself be used in that way again.

Instead of keeping the anger and frustration she felt about it at bay, she used it to her advantage, surging forward to slice and dice the rest that had previously placed her into quite the predicament, delivering the same approach she'd awarded their equal, stopping to plunge it through the heart of another hurtling in her direction from the left. It wasn't long before she found herself back to back with Spike, whose bare chest was soiled with the blood he'd spilled, the metallic liquid quite thoroughly staining his fingers and the palms of his hands.

"Fancy seeing you again, love. Come here often?"

Appreciating the quip, she threw him a smile over her shoulder following another decapitation. "The stake. It works like a knife or dagger. Use it."

He plowed his fist into the face of the nearest vampire as three more moved in for the kill. "What's that you're on about?"

"The _stake_," she repeated, jamming hers through the sole of her next adversary's shoe minutes prior to shoving it into him. "You can use it to chop their heads off."

"Right then." His movements were quick and efficient as he began to take them out two at a time, the stake in question positioned firmly in either hand, putting his enhanced speed to good use.

While he busied himself in whittling down their numbers at a proficiently alarming rate, Buffy reached for the second stake she'd tucked away, tracking him as diligently as she could and trying to do the same. It was like a kind of weird waltz, she reasoned. He was so graceful and continued to attack with such ease that she wondered if it would ever be that way for her. If it would ever come so naturally it would be a part of her and who she really was. It was difficult to forget that she'd only been at it a little less than a week. A week during which she'd been released from prison after seven years, learned vampires and other creatures were real, and had ended up falling for one of them.

She'd never been one to buy into the so-called hype about love at first sight, but she'd found herself more intrigued than disgusted by what he was. It was new. So new that she hadn't yet struggled in depth with the concept on a daily basis, as the facility hadn't exposed her to any of the dirty little secrets society was withholding from her since she'd been committed. It was almost as if she'd sensed there was something between them from the day he came to speak with her in her cell, informing her that he believed enough in her case to want to help. It was the first time anyone had ever seen her for who she was despite who they'd tried to condition her into being. He hadn't even propositioned her for sex and had the nerve to look genuinely bothered when she'd brought it up.

His past was tainted with crimes of deplorable origin, and she loved him.

Loved him for all he was, and all he became. She needed him to cope with her past, just as much as she needed him to cope with the future. She knew it was the same for him.

She didn't feel the fangs nick her shoulder until they dove in deeper, digging into the tender skin and taking one strong pull before she slashed the culprit across the face with her fingernails, flipping her stake up and getting in a sweep across his neck as she watched him dissipate.

"Buffy!"

"I'm okay!" she called back. "Keep going!"

"You're far from it," he told her, getting in an additional swipe as he approached her. Looking up, she was surprised she hadn't noticed the depleting numbers a great deal sooner, leaving only a handful in their wake. She realized it was a sign that she was indeed feeling a bit woozy and exhausted from exerting herself in the fight, having thrown her body into it without mercy or remembrance of the many kicks and punches she'd executed. She'd also managed to once again let her guard down just long enough for one of the vampires to grab some tasty snack food from her. It was almost becoming an odd kind of habit.

"How m-"

"Four," he filled her in. "Doesn't seem to matter much though, does it? He's probably got an entire bleeding room of 'em somewhere, just lyin' in wait."

"It's an exercise."

"Exercise?" he reiterated, not lost to the fact that the remaining stragglers were starting to gain on them.

"It's all about seeking his approval. We still need to be worthy."

He nodded slowly, risking a glance at the demon who sat surveying the wreckage. "You think he wants us coherent for the final act."

"Bingo, but it won't be a second round of vamps- at least not for me."

"Slayer-"

"Duck," she hissed.

He raised a brow. "Beg your pardon?"

"Behind you!"

Without glancing up, Spike pulled back on his stake and located the heart from memory in one fell swoop, unbothered by the thin sheet of ash that descended over the air and onto his jeans.

"Isn't that cheating?" she countered.

"Can't be if you warned me."

"Ready to finish them?"

"Give it our best," he sided.

But the three remaining vampires weren't engaging any effort whatsoever to rush them, standing at attention for a second time as they seemingly waited for some kind of order from up above them. She watched Adlam bestow them a curt nod in response, a grin falling over his lips. "It's time," he said simply.

"Time?" she echoed.

"As in yours is up. Collect them and bring me the whore. Take the vampire to cell G and put her mother in H. Tell Liam that we're starting."

It was then that she figured out it was the blood. The same tainted substance that had been mixed with Rack's to disorient Spike when he'd killed the warlock and drank from him, making him worry he hadn't retained his soul and was gradually turning back into the monster he'd been without it. Buffy hadn't been convinced of his former nature for a second- partly because he wouldn't have wanted a soul as bad as he did if he didn't already possess some humanity in him to counteract his demon.

She could hear Spike calling out to her as they dragged him away, but exhaustion was finally settling in and she barely noticed the bulky vampires moving in on either side of her as they shuffled her back into the building.

When she opened her eyes again, she was in some kind of bedroom, tucked beneath impeccably spotless white cotton sheets. The blood had been washed away clean and she was without her clothes. Feeling uncomfortably exposed, she sat up straight, her spine stiffening as she pulled the comforter up to shield her breasts from view. Her long hair had been meticulously groomed and hinted at no remnants of the fight she'd just taken part in against her will.

"Ah, she's awake, I see. Hadn't expected you to come around this soon. Must be that slayer stamina I've heard so much about."

He'd reverted back to his human state- a reasonably good looking man in his own right. But now that she knew what his other side looked like- and a little too well, Buffy discovered she was even more repulsed than she'd been previously regarding his identity. He was as naked as she was, and although she'd warned herself well in advance not to drop her gaze any lower, she found herself doing it despite her inner protests- not entirely shocked to find him severely lacking compared to a certain vampire she was already intimately familiar with.

"I had those lovely assistants of mine bathe you as you slept. Not the easiest task to master, even for them, but I'd say they did a good a job as any."

"You gave me a choice," she whispered.

"I did, though as I understand it, I'm an awfully impatient gentleman. Given a bit more persuasion, I usually get what I want. If anything, I'm doing you a courtesy right now by not having your mother in here watching you squirm. Do it all you like, by the way. I've been known to get off on more than just a little pain."

He sat beside her on the bed and angled himself so that he was on his knees above her, hovering over her bare form. "I'm going to ask you kindly to remove that sheet so we can get started. But first..."

Her heart just about shattered in her chest when Angelus brought Spike in. His jeans and boots were coated quite heavily in blood- no doubt some of his own this time, and his beautiful face was marred by cuts and bruises, one of his eyes turning an unhealthy shade of purple around the edges. More cuts lined his chest and cascaded down his arms, the injuries he'd sustained there fairly recent and reminiscent of torture. Drusilla was nowhere in sight, and Buffy was curious as to whether Angelus had carried out and dealt his own punishment against her already, likely making short work of it and killing her. She supposed it didn't matter what he had or didn't have now, as he existed solely for inflicting further hurt on the one vampire he despised completely.

Adlam carefully pulled the sheet down and away from her, his green eyes inspecting her with a hunger in them, a hand closing itself over her neck. "I'm going to tell you to relax. If you fail to do so, I'll have to call in some of my finest to help restrain you. They'll hear you when you shout, Miss Summers. When you plead with me to bring you to orgasm because you can't take any more of it. Wouldn't want that now, would we?"

She numbly acknowledged him, all the while staring at Spike, whose blue eyes were so apologetic and wrought with regret that she couldn't help the tears that spilled from hers.

Adlam released his hold on her neck and allowed his hand to travel to each of her knees, carefully spreading her open to him. Drawing himself up to gather her arms with his other hand, he dutifully secured and placed them above her head. He then paused for a moment before suddenly releasing her, his attention directed to the headboard in front of him, his thumb and index finger trailing contemplatively along his jawline. "Turn around and kneel."

"W-what?"

"Turn around. _Kneel_."

"This is what Angelus did to Clara. Isn't it?" she murmured, her tone far weaker than it sounded.

"He watched, you see. Your lover watched as Liam stole that innocence from her- that purity. Mr. Pratt could have stopped him, could have done _something_, but instead he just looked on like a blithering fool, waiting until the half breed had finished. It would've hardly made any difference, as she was already ruined...corrupted. He crushed her until there was nothing left."

"You don't need to do this. There's a-"

"Kneel, Elizabeth. I won't say it again."

She complied as her tears coursed the length of both cheeks, her hands grasping the headboard as she remembered what she'd taught herself in prison- made herself invisible to what was happening to her as they'd taken what they wanted. When a hand curled around her waist and splayed itself across her stomach, she nearly gagged, sensing the tip of his manhood as it grazed her, less than an inch away from penetration. His other hand toyed lightly with her left nipple, and she found herself holding her breath and biting her lip as she continued to sob, unable to properly construct the courage necessary to block all of it out this time. "Let's see what's so terribly enticing about a slayer now, shall we?"

Buffy bent her head forward, only becoming conscious of the ongoing commotion behind her when Adlam was lifted away from her and thrown off of the bed, his face hitting the edge of the nightstand as he fell and roughly caught his right temple on it. When another hand possessively enclosed itself over her belly in reassurance, she balked and fought it, only stopping mid struggle when she sensed the man who'd initiated it, throwing herself into his waiting arms. "Oh, God."

"Buffy. Slayer."

"You shouldn't have to see me like that," she stated quietly, her eyes still watery as they met his. "It wasn't-"

"Told you I'd fight for you, didn't it? Went through some bloody unpleasant torment for a bit before that ponce brought me in here to 'take a gander' as he'd put it. Gave me this line about havin' his go of it when Adlam was done. Rehashed the same nonsense the vamp at the apartments did. My overall strength might've been knocked down a peg since I got here, but I couldn't live with you being in that much pain if that bastard had gotten to you first. Nearly destroyed me a few times over, but I held my own. Kill myself first before I let anything happen to you."

"You look like hell," she added, mustering up a shaky smirk.

"You're one to talk," he confirmed, noticing her very obvious state of undress. "Over there, near the bathroom. There's a closet. Wager he's got your clothes inside. Best put them on so we can make a break for it. Won't be out cold for long. Peaches really needs to invest in the value of a decent pair of blooming handcuffs. Tried some of his more harmless tools on me for a spell before he got bored and reached for the aforementioned drill. Brought me here before he could use it and said I should stay for the show 'til he finished me off for good. Guess Dru would've never gotten the family she'd been hoping for."

"Is she..."

"Can't say," he admitted. "Not like we can afford the luxury to stop and look, though. What's done is done now."

"I was afraid he- I mean I felt...he was so close, wasn't he?"

"Shh, don't need to even think about that now, eh?" He pulled her closer and gathered her unattired body more firmly in his arms, his lips gingerly brushing hers. "How's that nasty bite you got earlier?"

"Looks like they must've given me something for it."

"Could tend to it if you wanted. Smooth things over a tad."

"I'm good. Really."

He nodded. "Right, so...closet. Be quick about it."

"Yeah." She was able to once again recover her tank top, bra, panties and jeans, her sneakers somewhat further back and perched up against the wall. She hurriedly slipped each article up and over her nude frame, not oblivious to the way in which Spike trailed even her slightest movement, his blues learning her so intently she felt something warm and fuzzy course through her. Something _tingly_.

"Ready?"

"My sword."

"I know, sweet bit, but now's not the time to linger in here when the man who just tried to rape you nearly got what he wanted. We'll return for the bloody sword later. Need to find your mum and the others and skedaddle from this hole pronto."

"No, stupid, it's over there. In here."

"Your sword."

"Yep. In his cabinet."

"Probably locked up all snug like, too. Good thing the padlock's so sodding old. Bloke should've had his guard dogs out on patrol." He walked over to it, yanking as hard as he could before he snapped it in two. The glass doors swung wide open and he grabbed it, handing it over to her and grinning when she took an experimental swipe with it with a flick of her wrist.

"I can feel it now."

"Probably 'cuz it's in your hand," he drawled, impishly rolling his eyes.

"No, it's not just that," she protested, gripping it with both hands as she feigned another swing. "There's power here, Spike. Power he doesn't see."

"Are you sure you're-"

"I think I understand. Not just this, but...everything."

"That's nice for you, but you're gonna have to have your sanity intact if you-"

"I'm not crazy, you know I'm not."

"Right, not crazy. Look, we need to book it, lamb. Take your shiny prize with you, but we've gotta-"

"He's got a point there, missy. You really should've hauled yourself out of here while you still had the chance." Picking himself up and dusting off his pants, Angelus rubbed the back of his head as he winced, rolling it around very briefly as he cracked the bones in his neck. "On second thought, though, maybe you could stand to stay awhile and we could make with a little small talk. I'll go and get my drill and we'll have a blast seeing how many holes I can put through your body before you black out on me and bleed like a pig. How about it, huh?"

"I've got an offer for you," the peroxide blonde prompted.

"Sorry, Willy. Between you and Ash, I'm just about all offered out. Hey, I know. Why don't we play a different kind of game and make it a threesome? You, me and the little bitch. Man, that was a tight end, wasn't it? All round and supple. What I wouldn't give to be inside that heat, giving it to her after she gets me hard."

His eyes shifted into amber, his vampiric visage setting up shop over his human features. "You'll never get to find out."

"Oh, c'mon, Spikey. Loosen up, man, and tell me when you first saw her you weren't dreaming about sticking it to her. Skipping all the pretense and just ramming it home. They're just asking for it. Dru let me do all sorts of things to her after you left."

"That's the difference between you and me then, isn't it?" Spike taunted. "I've got enough sense to treat a woman like the lady she is, while you've never once valued anything in your pathetic scrap of a life. Weren't even any good to anyone when you were human, Liam. Always out on the town night after night tryin' to find some girl who'd be dumb enough to sleep with you while you drank yourself to high bleeding heaven in some shoddy pub singing songs."

"What can I say?" Angelus concluded, holding out both hands in vindication. "At least it beats being some loser who thought poems up off of the top of his head. Whose only real goal was to excel at being a mama's boy for all eternity and never once attempt to get himself laid. Face it, you were never me."

"Wouldn't have wanted to be, which is why I'm only gonna say this once," Spike declared, letting his fist fly as he caught his rival dead center of his nose, causing him to spiral backward and onto his back. "Leave Los Angeles and whatever the bloody hell dimension this is and don't come back."

"Or what?" he asked, trying to stifle the blood as it poured out of both nostrils. "You'll stake me?"

"Won't say I haven't thought about it."

"You don't have the guts."

"Keep it up and you won't have any left."

"You really think that soul of yours will let you? It's practically mass murder. You'd be wracking yourself with the guilt, son. What she was to you and what you were to her- it doesn't compare to whatever life you've made for yourself now. We've hunted and we've killed together. That's not the kind of thing you just forget."

"Maybe not, but I'm already sodding close. 'Sides, you already got what you came for."

"That's actually debatable," he proclaimed, "but have it your way."

"We'll see each other again, mate. Maybe next time it'll end in your gruesome horrible death."

Angelus growled as the tip of Buffy's sword planted itself resolutely across his chest, her petite hands grasping the handle rather tightly. "Count on it," she added.

Lowering the weapon, she withdrew it to her side, unprepared when it was yanked from behind her and pried from her loose grasp, the sharp end finding its way straight through to her heart.


	38. Chapter 38: The Darkest Hour

A/N: Thanks so much TheBlueDragonWolf and Spuffygirl! Sorry about the cliffhanger. However, whether or not things are as they seem is certainly something else to think about. ;)

A lot of time and effort has gone into this fic, and I'm still happy to have been able to share it. It was never intended to be hugely epic in the sense of epicness with big battles at all, as I've had the end planned for some time and had always wanted to pursue a bit of a different outcome with it. According to my notes, it looks like only one more chapter and an epilogue remain.

Also, excuse my error after Angelus says "bravo." It's supposed to say "hands" and not "eyes." MS Word did not pick up on it. Fixed.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Darkest Hour…

1:51 PM

He fell to his knees beside her, her body lying face down and in a puddle of her own blood, her long blonde hair obscuring her vision. Almost afraid to touch her, he slowly rubbed his hands along jeans caked with dried blood and dirt, refusing to believe what he was seeing as he stopped himself short of lapsing into unadulterated shock. He'd known it was a risk from the very beginning- known it even as he'd pleaded with a woman in a cell who was adamant about standing her ground and challenging his authority. But to have that life snuffed out of her without so much as a struggle and so bloody quickly was literally more than he could bear at the moment.

That was when he noticed the wound.

He couldn't quite fathom how he'd managed to miscalculate its positioning and the way it fell just inches short of puncturing the same organ that no longer functioned inside of him, the faint sound of a beating heart echoing loudly in his ears. Her heart. It was a welcome noise made all the more prominent as he absentmindedly drowned out the commotion transpiring around him, never noticing Angelus stepping in to subdue Adlam with the sword, plunging it deep into the pit of his stomach. A sword drenched in slayer blood. The magician's aim had been a little off, and Spike couldn't discern whether or not it was deliberate. Either way, it did precious little to change the outcome. In theory, his vampire rival was to blame for everything that had led up to this moment, creating a monster out of a timid man as he'd destroyed the woman he'd loved dearly all those years ago, and without conscience- happily wearing her out until she'd crumbled and bent beneath his every sodding whim.

Spike slowly turned Buffy over, pulling her broken body up to him as he cushioned and cradled her head, the red metallic liquid having soaked clean through her white tank top. The smell was overpowering and contagious, reminding him of the day he'd tasted her at her mum's house to severe the ties when she'd become too involved in recreating the past, trying to suss out what had happened the night everything had literally gone into the abyss for her. "Slayer."

She looked so pale and so fragile, and he just wanted to make her okay again. Make it the way it used to be.

He saw her sitting in a busy little diner having breakfast with him the morning he'd gotten her released from prison. She's been intrigued, but still too wary to trust. He remembered the way she'd fled from him at the cemetery after he'd finished exhuming her mum's coffin with Harris, distraught at the possibility of what they might find as a means for her to accept answers she hadn't been ready for.

There was a small part of him that almost contemplated turning her against her will. Turning her into a demon. Like him. But she wouldn't be. There was the absence of a soul to contend with- an absence that would prevent her from being able to determine right from wrong as naturally as a human did, much less a creature like himself who'd gone through the trials to earn it and become worthy of it by pain and endless torture. Most importantly, he knew it wouldn't be something she wanted. She'd asked questions about his kind on more than one occasion, but he always chalked it up to mindless curiosity due to her constant fascination with him and what he was. He was never truly convinced she wanted to become a monster.

He was a vampire, and under normal circumstances, Buffy slayed vampires. It was her job, her sacred duty. Her calling. It's what she was meant to do. It seemed only common sense that she satisfy that curiosity at becoming more adept with how creatures like him operated on a daily basis in conjunction with the masses.

"Open your eyes, love. You can do that for me, yeah?"

He heard her groan, her lids fluttering wildly as she struggled to pry them loose, her lips parting as more blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth. "Spike?"

"It's me, pet."

"It hurts," she uttered faintly, her tone just barely audible to him.

"Thought you'd left me," he whispered back, taking her free hand in his as he wound his fingers blithely through hers. "Need to hold on."

"I can't, it's...it hurts, Spike. It hurts so much."

"Told you of your strength the day we met," he insisted, his voice on the verge of cracking. Tears threatened to overtake his vision, but he pushed them back, not wanting to alarm her and give her cause to suspect what was inevitable. He couldn't have her bleeding worrying when there was already too much to worry about. "Gonna be fine."

"I'm not." It took enough effort just to shake her head. "I'm really not. But right now, you're being a pretty good liar."

He smiled. "There's my girl."

"I'm tired, Spike. I...do you think I could just rest for a little while?" she asked, lightly squeezing his hand. "So tired."

"Buggering hell," he stated quietly.

"You'll need the mother," Angelus told him as he crouched beside them, his brown eyes zeroing in on the slayer.

"Her mum?"

"If Ash were smart, he would've killed the old lady on the spot. Had one of us bleed her dry. Guess he's not much for playing it too close to the books these days. Then again, when has he ever? Even the good ones get careless and can't see it coming. Dru? Honey?"

The lithe form of Spike's former lover stumbled into view and he noticed she seemed even weaker than she had before. "Tell them what you told me," Angelus instructed.

"He can't see," she murmured, as she directed her gaze skyward, staring almost dreamily above her. "She needs to be pure."

"And what in the King's English does that mean to the dearly almost departed?" the blonde vampire snapped, his focus returning to Buffy.

"Her mother's blood, my William. You'll take care of the rest. Fetch her mum."

"Adlam?"

"Funny, isn't it?" Angelus offered by way of explanation. "Always so damn obsessed with purging the life from slayers. Made it his only objective. Turns out, the one thing he sought the most, is the one thing that stops the son of a bitch in his tracks and slows him down. Power's only borrowed now and it's fading fast. Of course, none of the others had as much of the fight in her as this one. She's a real pistol."

When Spike didn't say anything, the other vampire deliberately cleared his throat. "It's all about the blood again. Slayer blood. It's his weakness. Toxic. He's not dead, just paralyzed. You can do whatever the hell you want with him providing Dru and I get out of here in one piece. It doesn't have to be difficult."

"You're helping me."

Angelus laughed, grinning. "This isn't about you, Willy. Or haven't you figured that out yet? I'm for me and mine. Fact of the matter is, story around these parts is that she needs to live, so what kind of guy would I be if I couldn't pay you a visit from time to time, huh? You know, check up on you and the missis? Maybe take her for a test drive."

"Too late to repent, Liam."

"I'll go get grandma," he added, ignoring him.

"Spike?"

He turned back to the girl in his arms, her skin growing colder, her lips nearly blue. She was slipping even further away from him. "Got your cure coming, lamb. Just-"

She coughed, the corners of her mouth twitching into a small smile. "You're so beautiful. Did I ever tell you that?"

He tilted his head. "Plenty of time left to, seeing as you're not going anywhere."

"But I am, I can feel it," she insisted, her gaze leveled towards something in front of her. Something only she could see. "There's a light, too. It's a little bright, but I think I'm supposed to go. Do you see the light, Spike?"

_No_. God, no. He wasn't ready.

"Tell 'em they can't have you," he croaked out, the tears stinging his eyes as they began to fall freely, tumbling carelessly down his cheeks. "Not done with you."

"You won't be done," she amended, "because you'll fight. For me. You'll keep fighting. It's what you do, who you are."

"Buffy-"

"It's okay. I'm all right now." Her green eyes closed and she smiled again before turning her head to the side. He hesitantly flattened a hand across her heart, his enhanced hearing no longer detecting a steady beat, its movement ceasing beneath his fingers as it went completely still. At first glance, she appeared to be in a peaceful slumber, her hair surrounding a face he couldn't imagine living without. _Being_ without. Just existing.

"Buffy!" Joyce was barreling toward them, her dirty face a concoction of both confusion and sadness as she fell to the floor and crawled the rest of the way to her daughter, taking her lifeless hand in one of her own. "Buffy? Sweetheart? Mommy's here."

"She's gone," Spike muttered regretfully, his admission hoarse.

"I don't accept that. They- I was told I could...my blood. They said-"

"She's dead, Joyce." He couldn't conceive of what it was like for a mother to lose a child. To have carried that child inside her for nine months, raised her, and seen her through the scrapes and bruises as she traveled through life without a proper handbook. There wasn't any other way, he decided. Not really. He thought back to some of the cases he'd worked and the parents he'd had to inform that their son or daughter wouldn't be coming home because tragedy had struck at the most inopportune of times. He hadn't pretended to understand the immense grief they were going through, or even the stages yet to come.

He hadn't known Buffy nearly as long as Joyce had, and despite being familiar with her quirks and her dislikes, and what made her giggle, there would always be so much more to learn. He knew with certainty now she'd never stop bloody surprising him. A part of him ached to see it. Witness it. "I'm sorry."

Joyce opened her other hand where her palm bled, the blood gushing out, her eyes pleading with him. "There's a ritual. That man over there who came and got me told me about it. He told me what you are and what you can do."

_"In her. Your destiny lies with her. She knows power others can't begin to imagine. Power that extends beyond her sword. Power only you can give her."_

Drusilla's rantings may not have been gibberish after all.

"Not turning her," he proclaimed, obviously misinterpreting the meaning.

"You could prick her skin with your fangs," she continued. "Draw some blood, so I could join mine with hers."

"She's-"

"Please? I don't know you, William, but I know you care for her. I've seen how you are with her, how you fought by her side. You feel something. Ashford told me you can't love, but I believed it when you told me. I did," she emphasized. "Why can't you have faith that this might work?"

Spike studied her, sighing with what breath he didn't have before his countenance shifted into his game face, growling as his fangs emerged. The same fangs Joyce wanted him to pierce her daughter's flesh with. He had to give her credit for not screaming her full noggin off when she'd seen his demon. Grasping Buffy's wrist, he nicked it as delicately as he could before abruptly pulling away- having it on good authority that he might be tempted to go further as a result of having already tasted her. He gathered that day would forever haunt him, no matter how often he'd tried to rectify what he'd done as just.

He saw Joyce join her palm with Buffy's wrist, and waited. Adlam chuckled long and loud behind them, gloating like the madman he was from his prison on the ground, the sword still trapping him. "No more," he chanted. "No more, no more, no more. We've reached an end, my friends. We've done it!"

"Try harder to wake the hidden princess," Drusilla spoke somewhat hushed. "Perhaps it's all tumbled off course and the pixies forgot to tell me. Bad, wicked pixies. You shall have no cookies and ice cream this afternoon. Miss Edith will see to that."

Spike shook his head, rolling his eyes as he reached for Buffy one last time, palm to palm as he prepared himself to say goodbye to her in his own way, unable to severe the ties unconditionally when he felt something give his undead body a jolt. A flicker of light descended between them, but was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving him oddly drained. The hand he still clutched twitched slightly, and he was convinced he'd drifted between the realms of his own consciousness, the compulsory response an utter joy to behold. He contemplated risking a glance at her, his cerulean stare hopeful that it hadn't just been a figment of his own muddled imagination.

He couldn't quite make heads or tails of it, but he felt her stirring seconds before she did, the loveliest green eyes he'd ever seen looking back at him, her cheeks rosy and her lips pink. Too _alive_ to be a vampire, yet something had changed. Something he wasn't entirely sure he was okay with. Dropping her hand, her saw her frown as she turned away from him, whatever equilibrium she'd regained nearly knocked out of her again when Joyce pulled her close and hugged her, her grip tightening tremendously before planting a soft kiss in her hair. "My sweet Buffy," she pressed. "My little girl. When he had me, I warned him. I warned him he couldn't get to you."

"Mom," she breathed.

"Take it easy, sweetie. Take your-"

"What did you do to me?"

It struck her as more of an accusation than anything else, and Buffy was loathe to admit it actually made her somewhat guilty that she'd even entertained the thought. But she was experiencing such a wave of nausea that she realized it was only fair that she be entitled to some kind of answers regarding what had just happened- what was evidently _still_ in the process of happening to her. Her heart beat stronger and clearer in her ears and she could hear everything going on around her, very gradually allowing it to wash over her as she struggled to lift herself up, her attempts at maneuvering a bit wobbly and stilted, strangely undignified at best.

The clumsily executed actions of a child.

Which was odd, as nothing about her had been altered physically. Judging from her arms and legs, everything was intact, and the large splotch of red that had stained her clothing was gone, having vanished entirely from view. There was no indication that she'd ever been stabbed, let alone _dead_ despite memories of a happy place that she presumed may have been the equivalent of some kind of heaven. She could recall someone in glowing white greeting her as she'd been separated from her body, and then sharing a conversation meant only for her. Something about her duty and her survival and being trusted to maintain order under a guide who would continue to show her the ways of her craft and perfecting it. A guide who she was supposed to inform was assigned to being entrusted with her life.

Her very long life.

She recounted Adlam's tall tale about her being the very last slayer of all the slayers, and could no longer dismiss his ramblings without them providing her a certain kind of clarity. In fact, it was all becoming just a little _too_ accurate in terms of clarity.

"Your mum brought you back," Spike muttered. "Used her blood."

"No, I don't think it-"

"Bravo," Angelus mused, overenthusiastically clapping his hands. "Everybody lives and we're all happy. Blah, blah, and speaking of leaving..."

"Go," Spike cut him off as he reverted to his human visage again, both hands curling in and out of fists at his side.

"What about-"

"Gonna see if I can call in a favor, look at some of his spells to do it. I'll book him and turn him over to the authorities once we get him in our world. Don't wager killing him would be to our advantage as the ponce would just find another way to return, anyway. Make another deal, cheat the devil. All comes back around, doesn't it?"

"Made quick work of his right hand goons after the infamous showdown with the fence. Gone and dusted. Much as it hurts me to say this, they won't bother you."

"_Go_."

"I would, but we've still got our own score to settle. Normally I'm not one to back down. But maybe I'm not all about wrecking things anymore and causing anarchy. Maybe I'm all about righting them. Could be nice to have a new motto when I feed."

"Right, 'cuz it would just be too much for you to try for pig's blood from here on out. Hospital donations? You leave a trail, I'll find you. Hunt you down."

"So is this like a contract now?" the brunette quipped. "Because I think I'm already out of fresh ink and what I've read so far sucks."

"Usually don't form pacts with poofters who have their own personal agenda to make my life sodding bonkers. You and Dru try and draw more attention to yourselves and they'll take you in. Perform their tests and make you a hostage on your own blooming turf. Wouldn't want that now, would we?"

"Dru!"

"Farewell, my William." Angelus snatched up her hand in his, pulling her toward the doorway of the bedroom, the sad smirk spread across her face one that would stay with Spike forever. He no doubt knew there'd be some way to make her strong again, but it wouldn't be today. Devious as Angelus was, he'd find some kind of remedy where Adlam's promise had failed. If he ever ran into her again, Spike wouldn't plan on her lending any assistance for a second go of it.

He saw Buffy move into Joyce's arms and give her mother a hug, both women sobbing as they clung to each other, huddling even closer on the bare floor. Unable to help feeling a little envious at the extended version of their earlier reunion, he numbly succumbed to the conclusion that he really didn't have any business meddling in the time they'd lost. Her mum had been with her during the first seventeen years of her life prior to her wrongful imprisonment. For him, it was considerably less- yet he still couldn't convince himself that it was Joyce's blood that had done the trick and revived her daughter enough to bring her back.

He'd felt something. Something that had touched his soul with an almost raw kind of tickle.

The slayer hadn't looked at him once since whatever had passed through the two of them caused her precious heart to beat again, her green eyes repeatedly making it a necessity to avoid him altogether. It made him wonder if there was more to it than that- and if there was, he couldn't exactly force it out of her after she'd experienced the trauma she had. It was too soon to start some insanely petty argument on the value of honesty and truth when they'd already implemented both as she lay there bleeding only minutes ago. It had all happened so fast, and he'd need far more than an hour or two to process it.

He'd nearly forgotten they were only five bloody days away from Christmas.

But she was here, and she was alive, and just maybe he could begin to contemplate more with her. He just wasn't sure if it was what she still wanted. After all they'd seen and all he'd put her through, it wouldn't astonish him in the least if she wanted a break from her obligations when she'd actually died as a result of them.

Lifeless, unresponsive. He'd lost her for a bit, and now she wouldn't even look at him.

"There are other ways, you know." Adlam's voice beckoned to him, taunting him from below, his lips curved into a sneer.

"What's that you're on about?"

"Plenty of other ways. It's simply a matter of me tr-"

"_Silentium_."

Spike lifted his head, relief coursing through his bones as he focused on the intense glare of Rupert Giles, the other man having only just materialized himself into view. His mentor held a very old and very tattered spell book in his hands, anciently bound by whomever had taken such care with it years before either of them had been born. It was obvious it hadn't belonged to Tara, let alone anything Jenny could've provided him with. "Bleeding brilliant entrance there, gramps. Could've used you a mite sooner when he was exercising his talent at sword play."

"Ashford Adlam, you are bound by law to comply with and consent to the charges pending against you. As such, a court determining your fate will report by way of practices that have been resurrected of late to combat the atrocities you've spent the whole of your life committing. Therefore, you will accompany me to the rear entrance of the former courthouse where you will be seen to by members of a branch that far surpasses you in all of your...advancements. You will be dealt your punishment accordingly and serve out your time in solitude. Day in and day out. The kidnapping and unjust treatment of Joyce Summers, Willow Rosenberg, and Jennifer Hart, as well as the murder of Harmony Kendall, has already earned you consecutive life sentences and will continue as same in the interference of Elizabeth Summers and William Pratt."

"Well, unless you plan on personally escortin' him with a sword through his stomach, silencing him won't exactly be an issue later on. Angelus said it's the only thing that separates him from usin' the full scope of his powers against us. Clever of a sword to adhere so comfortably to its new owner, ain't it? Rejected him on the spot."

"Yes, and I've already anticipated that minor disruption," Giles advocated, withdrawing a pair of shackles that were standard issue but not without some added magicks of their own to enhance them, their hue a glowing green. He waved a hand, watching as the same shackles found their way around Adlam's wrists as the sword was pulled out. "I was given some additional information by your chappie Mr. Doyle and was able to imbue these with the same properties as Buffy's sword once I'd received word of her untimely, though far from permanent demise."

"How long will it hold him?" Buffy spoke up.

"For as long as we deem him admirable of his punishment- which is essentially an eternity. God knows he's more than earned the privilege and they don't award it to most anyone. I was able to channel the source of the sword's power and place it in the shackles for his confinement. I dare say it's almost terribly amusing that the one thing that has proven most fatal to him is the very thing he's been terribly keen on pursuing all of these years."

"You and Angelus both," Spike retorted. "He already seemed on the up and up there."

"Yes, and where is your charming foe?"

"Let him scamper off into the wind," he answered shamelessly, shrugging.

"You _what_?" Giles demanded. "Have you lost sight of the-"

"Rupert." It was all it took for his demeanor to soften as he turned toward the woman who'd addressed him. A woman he'd persuaded himself to accept as an impossibility that he would ever see again. A woman he'd loved once upon a time- a woman he _still_ loved and sincerely hoped he'd be able to cherish for the remainder of their existence together.

"Joyce." Nothing more was needed as he went to her, gathering her to him as he began to weep, his harsh behavior a distant memory as he held her in his grasp. Flashy was never the record keeper's style and he wasn't one for putting on a big show of emotion. Never had been. Spike wondered if Calendar had basically bestowed him with her blessing before he'd found a means to enter the portal, making him plainly aware that whatever he decided to do, she'd be there to support him.

That's what friends did.

Friends.

If that's all he was about to become to the slayer now, it would bring him very little pleasure to rehash what they'd shared between them in the past. The way he'd grown so used to having her around- her clothes in his closet, the familiar touch of his skin on hers. They were just a few of the things he was going to miss if she decided that what they'd had in such a short time wasn't worth pursuing in exchange for a normal life. The type of life it wasn't possible for her to have in her line of work.

"Are you okay in there, tough guy?"

Her voice.

Her voice, and she was speaking to him.

"Buffy."

"Right, stupid question," she confirmed, chuckling somewhat nervously. "I seem to have a real habit of doing that, don't I? Of course you're not okay. You saved my life and the first person I took comfort in was my mom when I-"

Her declaration was caught off guard and muffled with the feel of his lips against hers, nibbling graciously along the bottom before moving to savor them both, politely begging entrance with his tongue. "Thought you were a goner, baby."

"Well, if it gets you to call me baby again, I'm really glad I wasn't."

"But you were," he pressed. "You were dead, Buffy. Saw you conk on me before I could-"

"You did. They told me."

His blunt teeth traveled along the edge of her jawline. "Who told you?"

"I don't know who she was. I just assumed some kind of angel. But if Giles was right about The Powers That Be intervening where the Watcher's Council couldn't be bothered- especially with all they'd screwed up, I think it's safe to say I've got someone looking out for me. Two someone's, actually."

"What are you waitin' for then? Talk to Daddy."

"Daddy, huh? Isn't that a little kinky?"

"Could be all we do for the next few days," he drawled, "seeing as you seem to be up to the task."

"I think being _up_ applies to you more than me, pal. Besides, I can't believe you let them go. You said that if you-"

"Buffy," he demanded impatiently.

"What?"

"Need to know what you were gonna tell me. Would be nice if I knew exactly where you shipped off to when you left me for a fair bit and made me the loneliest man on the sodding planet. Forget about that already, did we?"

"I love you," she asserted in all seriousness. "You know that, right?"

He raised a brow. "I'll be showing you just how much soon as we get out of this poor excuse for a magician's lair, too."

"In that case, I hope you're planning on it being forever, because that's-"

"Told you I'd still want you when you had more wrinkles than toes, didn't I?" he countered, pulling on a strand of hair.

"No, I mean, forever _forever_. The kind of forever where I don't get old with a mop full of curly white hair and randomly break out into a show tune while they're bathing me at the home. Oh, and most importantly, no calling Bingo when my hearing goes and I- you know, I think I'm really gonna hate that. Especially if being and looking twenty-four for the rest of my life means we'll just have to conceive of more ways to break the monotony and be inventive."

"You saying what I think you're saying?"

"I'm _saying_ that whatever happened to me over there, whatever kind of...weird thingy happened between the two of us after my mom gave me her blood, I was told my life span is the equivalent of a certain vampire who bleaches his hair and has the deepest blue eyes I've ever seen. Whatever the sword did to me was meant to test me because-"

"Sword was the reason too then, wasn't it?"

"Maybe. I...I'm not exactly clear on that part yet. I'm also not really sure how I feel about trying to tell my mom and Giles that I won't be celebrating my twenty-fifth birthday by seeming any older than I already am right now."

"Not as difficult as it seems. After awhile, you start to forget about that and just continue doing what you need to in order to-"

"I know, and that's why they've given you the honor of being my guardian. My guide to teaching me everything I haven't learned about being a slayer."

"Got the instant death half of it down just fine," Spike gibed seconds before she hit him, slapping him playfully across his chest. It was just another one of those things that had him finding her even more irresistible now as opposed to all of the other swipes she'd since taken at him.

"I mean it. You're gonna be all official and everything, mister."

"It scares you, doesn't it? The whole-"

"Thought I already said it did, although given that I have it all to look forward to with, oh say, the likes of _you_, I'm suddenly feeling a little more comfy. You'll teach me, won't you? The rest of it? There's so much that I-"

"Slayer." He'd picked up on her doubt almost immediately, knowing now that the connection they'd previously shared had probably returned in all its glory and would only feature more frequently between them as the days went by.

"What if you get tired of me?"

"Bollocks," he muttered, hastily giving his eyes another roll. "Never happen."

"What if you decide that immortal Buffy isn't as fun as mortal Buffy?"

"Won't be an issue," he reassured her once again. "Told you I'd take you even if were too far gone to remember my bloody name. You're it for me, you chatty little bint."

"Still not sure how I feel about the whole bint thing."

He grinned. "More interested in how we're gonna get out of this sorry waste of dimension space. But first, I think we need to rescue Red and Hart and find out where he's been keepin' 'em. Harris would flay me alive if I didn't come back with his lady, and that Hart bird's family's gonna be able to have a real happy holiday with the knowledge that she'll be all cozy by their side. Have to see if the department can recommend someone for her to talk to, sort this out. She doesn't have the tenacity required to stick it out like Rosenberg and it's possible she'll need the counseling."

"And the ban? If you-"

"If we hand over Adlam here fair and square, think they might cut us a break."

"Indeed. Tara, Xander and Lorne were taken into custody by your Commander Snyder a handful of hours ago," Giles supplied. "The capture of our murderer, as well as the safe return of the women held captive here should be enough to bargain with them in securing their freedom. I suspect a court date will be set for Buffy following her return and she'll be pardoned on all charges following immediate grounds for dismissal. If not, I suspect your...Mr. Snyder doesn't have very long before the rule book is turned on its head for him. There may even be a promotion in it for your Miss Jenkins, as she's been most helpful. I've been meaning to speak with Chief Wilkins."

"We could get him to show his demonic half, couldn't we?" Buffy suggested, glancing once more at the incapacitated man on the floor. "Show them what he really is beyond all the stupid...magic stuff?"

"It's how he'll be returned to them," he vouched rather gleefully. "I've another incantation that takes care of the specifics. But first we should get to your friends. Joyce has told me where they are, and between all of us, we should be able to form a circle around Adlam to secure the, um, shield when we move to transport."

"He just ran out of vacancies." She walked over to where the blonde man with the green eyes regarded her menacingly, teeth clenched in obvious frustration. "Loser."


End file.
